Stories for Isobel: extended edition
by BlushLouise
Summary: Shorter ficlets that fit in with my fic "You had me at 'holoform'". Individual notes.
1. Artistic liberties

_A/N: So this first chapter is the ficlet celebration for 75 reviews for "You had me at 'holoform'"! Thanks, you guys! This won't necessarily make that much sense unless you've read 'Holoform' first, so scootch on over there and read that, why don'tcha :)_

 _And we can blame this little item on DogtagXD, whose comment about Isobel spending time with Sunstreaker-the-artist spawned the plot bunny that led to this little adventure._

 _Setting: some time in Isobel's future._

 _As always, I'm only borrowing them for a bit._

* * *

The gentle touch across my lower lip tickles, but it feels very nice.

"Hold still," he commands. "You'll ruin the finish."

Laughing or giggling is out of the question. It will smudge the paint, plus it will offend him. And Sunstreaker will be really annoyed if he has to start over.

It's hard, suppressing giggles.

"Hold _still_ , I said." Apparently I didn't quite manage to keep my face under control. The brush leaves my lip to move down along my cheekbone. "If I have to start this over again, you'll regret it."

I take a deep breath through my nose, schooling my body to stillness.

"That's better," he approves. "Good to know that you can behave if you have to."

"Thank you, Sunstreaker," I say, without moving my lips.

He snorts. "Lucky for you that you can say my name without using your mouth plates. You can open your eyes now, by the way, the paint on your eyelids is dry."

I open them with relief. It's dizzying to stand straight without visual input – I kept feeling like I would fall over.

Sunstreaker is frowning, completely focused on the slow strokes of the brush. Bright blue eyes under dark eyebrows are eyeing my chin and jawline. "You're going to look striking, Isobel. It's a slagging shame that this is temporary."

"Hey, don't worry, Sunny," Sideswipe says, grinning at me from his relaxed lounging in the sofa. "If it works, maybe Aid wants you to do it again. You can make another full design, have it ready." He pops an Energon candy in between silver mouthplates. "Though I have to admit, I don't understand. Why are you doing this again, Isobel?"

"If you talk now, I'll offline you," Sunstreaker threatens, brush sliding slowly across my chin and down my throat. "And you do get it, Sideswipe."

Sideswipe picks up the thick brush of dark blue paint that Sunstreaker had used as a primer. It's tiny in his big metal fingers. "Oh, yeah." A cheeky grin, and then the tip of the brush vanishes into his mouth. "Edible paint."

"For us, not for you," Sunstreaker cautions. "Don't lick your lips if you can avoid it."

"Got it," I reply, without moving my lips.

"Aid's a lucky slagger," Sideswipe comments idly. "Wish I had someone who'd do that as a surprise to _me_."

"Well, unfortunately for you, you're bonded to the artist," Sunstreaker replies absently, focusing those sharp eyes on the brush moving across my collarbone. "I do agree, though. First Aid had better appreciate what he's getting here, or I'll have words with him."

"You make an excellent piece of art, Isobel," Sideswipe smirks.

"She's a good canvas," Sunstreaker agrees, smirking at me. "And those colours suit you."

"Thanks," I say, afraid to say too much in case it means I move.

Sunstreaker switches to a different brush, and draws it in broad sweeps across my chest. The blue colour he used on all of my exposed skin an hour ago is vanishing underneath a pale, cloudy grey, swirling in cloudy shapes across my sternum.

"I'm glad you gave me free reign with the design," Sunstreaker says quietly, ducking his head to examine the effect. "Not that many would trust me with this. Thank you."

"Sure," I say. "You're the artist."

He smirks at me. "Yes, I am. Now hold still."

The brush moves down across my breasts, cresting first one, then the other. Not for the first time, I'm questioning the logic that had me decide to be almost completely naked for this.

"Easy, Isobel," Sunstreaker murmurs. "When you get nervous your breathing speeds up and turns shallow, and then my entire canvas moves."

"Okay," I whisper and try to get my errant body under control. It's not easy. There's nothing erotic about Sunstreaker's focus – and who'd have ever thought we could get to a point where his touch on my half-naked body would be clinical! – but it's still a very intimate situation.

"You're going to look awesome, Isobel," Sideswipe calls. He's smirking at me – his touch on my body would definitely not be clinical. I'm glad it's Sunstreaker doing this. And that's surprising, too; the realization that I'm more comfortable with him than his more social, more outgoing twin.

"Of course she will," Sunstreaker smirks as well. "She's my work, after all." The brush circles each nipple, and then moves down to paint the underside of my breasts and the upper part of my stomach.

"Now, this is the second layer details," Sunstreaker explains. "So the brush strokes are still fairly thick. When I'm done with this, we're on to the finicky details and the small brushes. At that point, you will let me know if it tickles, because I don't want you to move."

"Okay," I agree. I sneak a look at the color palette he's laid out – pale blues and turquoises, violets and iridescent pinks, soft greens and muted greys, glossy black and metallic silver and gold. It's a sunrise and a nebula rolled into one. Again, I'm impatient to see the finished result and a bit regretful that I didn't ask to see the design.

Sunstreaker's brush moves down towards the thin, ribbon-like elastic on my hip. "May I?"

"Go ahead," I breathe, steeling myself slightly. I'm not sure whether or not he's going to pull it all the way off.

But Sunstreaker just tug the thong string down slightly, allowing him to work over my hip on that side. Then he does the same on the other hip, leaving my underwear lower than it was but still covering me. As much as the flimsy silver garment ever did. That's the last time I let an Autobot pick out my underwear – and if Sunstreaker hadn't chosen it to fit with the rest of the design, I never would have worn it.

As he circles around to paint the small of my back, Sideswipe eyes me appreciatively.

"You know, you're dead sexy, Isobel."

"Shut up," Sunstreaker says forcefully. "If you make her uncomfortable I'll pummel you."

"Thanks," I say, to both of them. "It's okay, Sunstreaker. Sides learned his lesson." Only the fact that I managed to say all that without moving my lips saves me from Sunstreaker's ire – as it is, he's only frowning at me.

The brush moves down the back of one leg.

"I meant it objectively." Sideswipe quirks his lips at me, one corner of his mouth going up. "You've got the symmetry."

I snort at that, and Sunstreaker harrumphs from behind me at the noise. That's the strangest compliment I've ever gotten.

The brush circles my ankle to cover the front of my foot, and then moves up towards my knee again, sometimes swirling in small circles and sometimes moving in long straight lines.

"How long?" I ask.

"Another twenty minutes at least for this coat, and then I can start the surface detail half an hour after that," Sunstreaker replies quietly. "The paint has to dry."

"You okay?" Sideswipe asks.

"Thirsty," I reply.

Sunstreaker stands up and disappears into the adjoining room. He comes back with a soda can with a straw in it. "Here." He holds it up and lets me drink. He's very careful, and something tells me he's as careful of me as he is of the paint still drying.

"Thank you."

I'm rewarded with a rare smile. "No problem."

He puts the can down on a side table and picks his brush back up, moving on to the other leg.

"Hey, you want the TV?" Sideswipe asks. "In case it gets boring, standing like that for another few hours? We never did get to watch that movie you wanted to see."

Sunstreaker snorts. "Sappy human romance movie."

"Shut it," I reply, aiming it at the yellow twin. "Yeah, thanks, Sides."

Sunstreaker looks up at me and points at me with the brush. "No crying. Tears will streak the paint."

I snort again. "It's not a crying flick."

He just gives me a sceptical look. "Don't use your lips when you talk."

* * *

I'm wrong. This new version has definite sappy moments, and Sideswipe in the end has to transform and bring out his holoform to stand next to me with a tissue ready. And it's needed too, especially after the prince dies and everyone turns back into lightly used houseware. Sunstreaker just shakes his head at me.

"Well, at least she's standing still," Sideswipe says conversationally.

"Barely," Sunstreaker comments sardonically.

He's right. I had to suppress fangirl bouncing more than once during the film. But for the most part, I've been standing still and letting Sunstreaker work on the detailing.

My arms are done. So's my back, and most of my left leg. Sunstreaker carefully tugs the thong string back in place and moves on to my right leg.

Sideswipe takes a step back and looks me over. "Wow. We need to take pictures of this."

"It's not done yet," Sunstreaker replies. He's all focused on the thin brush moving in tiny strokes over my thigh, pausing only to switch colors.

"How long until you're done, then?" Sideswipe's circling me. "Primus, her back looks amazing."

"Another hour at least." Sunstreaker's delicate lips curve into a faint smile at his brother's praise.

"So I'll have Rewind come here in two," Sideswipe says, shrugging as if that's the problem solved.

I eye him sharply. I did not agree to having myself on film mostly naked.

Sunstreaker notices me tensing, and looks up from the tiny brush moving on my leg. "Not happy about that?"

"No. I have no clothes on."

Sideswipe looks me over. "True. But to be honest, with what Sunny's producing, I don't think anyone will notice. You're not a naked body anymore, pet, you're a piece of art."

Sunstreaker smirks at that. I frown, the paint on my forehead making the movement feel stiffer than usual.

"We'll let you see yourself first, okay?" Sideswipe says. "After Sunny's done. And if you're still uncomfortable, we won't do it, but if it's okay, we'll call Rewind then. This really ought to be preserved for eternity. Besides, it's not like I'm suggesting to put you on the big screen in "Stories for Isobel." I'm just saying make a record of this."

I sigh, glad that Sunstreaker isn't working on my back or my chest right now. "Okay then. I agree to that."

I resign myself to standing still for another hour. The movie starts again on its own, which helps.

Sunstreaker's tiny brush moves up my leg and over my hip. There's apparently a lot of finicky detail on my stomach, because the amount of tiny brush strokes is staggering.

The brush moves down underneath my belly button, small tiny movements going down towards the top edge of my silver so-called underwear. As he moves just on the edge of it, my breath hitches.

Sunstreaker pauses, looking at me. "Ticklish?"

"Unh. Not exactly." If I hadn't been painted, my cheeks would have been bright pink.

Sideswipe moves in to look at where his brother was painting. "What's up?"

"She reacts funny when I do this," Sunstreaker replies, demonstrating with a few more tiny strokes.

I draw my breath in sharply, feeling my lower abdominal muscles contract, the clenching of my pelvic floor muscles.

Sideswipe grins. "Sunny, I think you found a sensitive wiring node. Or whatever humans have that passes for it."

Sunstreaker stares at him, then smirks. "Who'd've thought. Isobel, can you stand still while I finish here?"

"Yeah," I reply, a little breathless. "I'll try."

I'm focusing on the movie. Very intensely. Learning the dialogue. Nothing's touching my tummy, no, definitely not, nothing is happening to make me wish I was with First Aid _right now_ and not these two miscreants. I am not reacting to this, no, I am not.

Nevertheless, I draw a shaky breath as Sunstreaker finally moves on from that area.

Unfortunately, he moves on to my nipples.

"Sorry," he says as I gasp. "They just got so nice and pointy, it's much easier to paint them now."

Sideswipe is cracking up, almost falling over on the floor.

I make a mental vow never to repeat this. If Sunstreaker wants to use me as a canvas again, I'm wearing a bathing suit.

At long last the torture session ends, and he moves on to my face. The tiny brush strokes are focused on the right side, covering my cheek and making dainty small lines around the corner of my eye. At least I'm not ticklish on my face.

But then he moves on to my butt cheeks, lifting the thong strings back to their original position.

"Tickles!" I giggle as Sunstreaker makes tiny dots with the tiny brush all over my left butt cheek.

"Sorry," he grins. "Almost done with that." The brush stop bopping about and instead moves in small, gentle strokes.

Finally, after what seems like an age and a half, Sunstreaker stands up and puts his brushes away. He frowns at me, circling me once, twice, picks up a brush to fix tiny imperfections here and there. Then he takes a step back.

Sideswipe looks at him expectantly. "Done?"

The golden twin nods. "Done."

"Whooo!" Sideswipe leaps across the distance separating us, grinning widely. He circles me eagerly, making appreciative sounds all the while, before stopping in front of me. "Primus, Sunny," he breathes. "That is fantastic." Then he pivots, and races back the way he came. "I'm setting up the mirrors!"

I smile carefully at Sunstreaker. "You satisfied?"

He surveys his work again, and nods, smiling slightly back at me. "I am, actually. It's almost perfect. You are a very good canvas."

Sideswipe comes bouncing back into the room, grin still plastered across his face. He moves in behind me and begins herding me into their big wash racks. This apartment belonging to Sunstreaker, there are of course mirrors. Full-length for a Cybertronian, so twice at tall as me. And Sideswipe's moved all the mirrors around to make a cube.

I stop, looking. "You know, there are witches who think that you can lose shards of your soul if you stand between mirrors like that."

Sideswipe just stares at me. "Huh?"

I shake my head, grin at him. "Never mind." I move in to stand in the open space he's left for me. And then I gasp as I see myself.

"Oh, my… Sunstreaker, you're amazing."

He smirks, looking at my reflection in the mirrors. "Yes, I am."

"Call Rewind," I breathe. "I can't let this vanish without a record."

Sideswipe grins and disappears out of the room, and I turn to examine myself.

There really are no words to describe this.

Sunstreaker has painted Cybertron and Earth on my body. I can barely see myself under the design.

I have the faint beginnings of a sunrise over Diego Garcia on my chest and stomach. The horizon is just brightening, giving the clouds soft pink edges, and the ocean is brightening from dark blue to turquoise and rose. The sky is still dark enough to show the stars, and the beach is shining silver on the lower half of my stomach. All the little wavelets and starlight shimmering on the sand must have been what set me off.

My legs are Iacon, gleaming, crystalline towers of an almost iridescent finish. The designs blend together, left leg effortlessly fading into right leg when I keep them together, the shading creating the illusion that it's all one solid canvas. On the back, it's the same image but with different lighting – night-time, I'd say, all the windows and openings of the buildings gleaming with light, and unknown constellations showing on my upper thighs and butt cheeks.

My back is Praxus. Crystal gardens of rose and lilac, edges of silver and gold. Small figures are visible among the crystals and buildings, Cybertronians going about their daily lives in a city that has since been razed to the ground.

"Sunny, I need that tissue again," I whisper. He walks up to me, holding the tissue paper up to catch the errant tears that are escaping.

My face is a nebula. Dark and star-ridden on the left side, but the right side is gleaming pink, orange, silver, purple, pale grey and white.

Sunstreaker lifts the tissue to my eyes again.

"It's beautiful, Sunstreaker." I smile, a bit tremulously, taking it all in. "I've never been more beautiful in my entire life."

He smirks at that, but then he shakes his head, and leans in to kiss my hair the only part of my body that's paint free. "Don't talk yourself down, Isobel. You're always lovely. This is just different."

I look at my arms. The right one has an unknown mech, silver in the moonlight, standing with his back towards the viewer in the desert. The shape of him is vague enough that he can't be recognized, a blend of shadow and reflective metal. The left one…

The left one has that picture of Elita that I really like. She looks so life-like, as if she could just step off my arm and into real life. It's perfection.

And everywhere, all over me, there are tiny golden glyphs. They edge the motifs, float among the stars, border the sharper curves of my body.

"What do they mean?" I ask, hesitantly almost-touching a larger one on my hip.

"Brilliance," Sunstreaker murmurs, fingers moving to hover over the larger glyphs that I now see are painted all around my hips. "Courage. Wisdom. Strength. Safety. Friendship. Loyalty. Imagination. Openness, or acceptance. Faith. Trust." He touches the last one gently. "Beauty." His eyes meet mine in the mirror. "I used the glyphs that I feel describe you, Isobel."

I'm dumbstruck at that. I know Sunstreaker has no romantic interest in me, or even a physical one anymore (not too sure about Sideswipe in that regard), but I didn't know he cared quite that much.

"Sunstreaker, I would hug you right now if it wouldn't ruin the finish," I whisper.

He smiles at me then, a small, tentative smile that makes him look young. "Hug me another time?"

That's the first time he's asked me for any kind of physical reassurance, and I can't stop looking at him in the mirror. He frowns slightly, looking away, and suddenly I realize he's waiting for an answer and is uncomfortable that I haven't given him one yet.

"Sunstreaker, I'll hug you as much as you could possibly want," I say assertively. "I care about you like a brother. Don't ever doubt that. And this…" I turn again, looking at myself from all angles. "This is the most beautiful thing you've ever given me. Not just the painting, but that you did it for _me_. That I got your time, and your talent, even when you knew the result would only be temporary."

The holoform behind me blushes, still frowning slightly. But then he takes a step closer, and presses another kiss to the back of my head, hiding slightly so I can't see his face. I've noticed this behaviour before – he usually hides his emotions behind that beautiful, arrogantly frowning mask of his, but if he has the rare urge to open up, he'll damn well not do it if you can see him.

"I love you, too, Isobel. Little sister."

Then he flees the room. I'm not offended, or even very surprised. He's used up his emotional quota for the day, most likely.

Little sister. I kind of like that.

After a few minutes, Sideswipe comes in, with Rewind and Sunstreaker (with his distant mask back on) in tow.

Rewind stops and gapes at me. "Primus. That's… Wow."

"Can you capture it?" Sunstreaker asks. "If I pose her, can you take the pictures?"

Rewind nods energetically, a gesture that he must have picked up from the humans. "Oh, most definitely. We need better lighting, though."

Rewind is efficient. He orders the two bigger bots around, and in short order the mirrors are moved to the main living room and set up to reflect the light the way Rewind wants it, and I'm placed in front of a large black sheet that's hung on one wall.

"Perfect," Rewind nods. "Let's get to it."

So, as Sunstreaker places me in different poses to show off his work as much as possible, and Sideswipe watches with a big grin on his face, Rewind takes about a billion pictures of me. Close-ups and wide angles, from above and below, sometimes walking slowly around me to catch me from every angle, sometimes zooming in to catch one of the incredible details. When he finally declares himself done, I'm completely beat.

"That about does it," Rewind says as Sideswipe packs the lights away and Sunstreaker fetches my soda. It's gone stale and warm and is the most delicious thing I've ever tasted. "I'll store this for you until you want it. Is Isobel getting a copy?"

"Yeah," Sunstreaker grunts. "Her idea. She gets a copy of everything, standard clauses."

"You got it." Rewind grins as he turns to leave. "Have a nice evening, you three. Isobel, say hi to Aid from me."

Sideswipe snorts at us as Rewind closes the door behind him. "He enjoyed that way too much."

"It's been a while since Rewind's had the chance to function as a proper photographer," Sunstreaker replies. "Let him have his fun. You ready, Isobel?"

I nod, butterflies suddenly very evident in my stomach. "Yeah. Let's go."

"Don't worry," Sideswipe says, pressing a kiss to my hair, the only place on me that's safe for him to touch right now. "Aid'll love it. That 'Bot doesn't know how lucky he is."

"Thanks, Sides." I shoot him a half-smile. "Sunny, will you walk me?"

"You know it." Suddenly, a cloud of blue sparks settle around my shoulders, manifesting as a dark cloak. "Come on."

"She gets to call you Sunny now?" Sideswipe prods his brother teasingly, running a hand down his back and around his waist.

"Shut up," Sunstreaker growls, pulling him close and pressing his lips to his twin's forehead. "Be back soon. Wait for me."

Sideswipe smirks. "You know it."

* * *

Sunstreaker walks me back to my flat in total silence, one hand on my back. I look up at him as I unlock the door – he's looking back the way we came, a half-smirk on his face. Noticing my questioning look, he snorts and shakes his head. "Sides is being… imaginative."

I grin at that. I have no problems believing that Sideswipe knows how to thoroughly distract his brother/lover. "Go back to him. I can take it from here." He nods and turns to go.

"Hey." I catch his sleeve, make him look back at me. "Thanks for this."

"No problem," he smirks. "I had fun. Tell me if you want to do something like this again."

I grin. "Maybe you should try this on Sidewipe."

"Nah. He'll never stay still long enough." A shudder runs through him, and he turns away again. "I really should go."

I giggle quietly. "Go. Go ravage your brother. I'll see you around."

The grin I get for that is the most brilliant one yet.

As he vanishes, taking my cloak with him, I walk inside and close the door behind me. The apartment is dark. I walk around the living room, turning lights on and off, trying to figure out what kind of lighting to use. I push the furniture aside and spread my bed coverlet and duvet on the floor.

And then I settle in to wait for my Protectobot to come home.


	2. Meanwhile, at Diego Garcia

_A/N: this is the first finished ficlet from my 100 review prompt offer. This one's for subbykkaya, and the prompt was this:_

 _"so Isobel is friends with the old guy at the laundry building, and he let's her request songs to play over the speakers while she does her thing. and then she dances and a bot comes and sees (probably rewind? he could record it I guess) and later there's a video circling the bots of Isobel in her socks trying to moonwalk in front of a washing machine." Song: D.A.N.C.E. by Justice._

 _I do realize I've tweaked it a bit. A lot. I hope you'll still like it._

 _This takes place during chapter 18 of "You had me at 'holoform'", while Isobel's away on her shopping holiday._

* * *

Meanwhile, at Diego Garcia...

* * *

Monitor duty on Diego Garcia, Rewind thinks, ranks somewhere between watching Sunstreaker's paint dry and watching Ramhorn sleep. That is, somewhere between dull but slightly meditative and plain old recharge-inducing boredom.

It's not the task in itself. Monitor duty can be very interesting. But that requires that something's _happening_. And on Diego Garcia, nothing worth reporting ever happens. Not since they caught Laserbeak, and barely even then. The base is just too small and too far apart from the rest of civilization.

Also, it depends on the company. Sometimes Rewind has monitor duty with Steetwise, which is interesting, or Blaster or one of the other cassettes, which can be fun. Sometimes he's with Bluestreak or Bumblebee, that's also nice, usually.

Today, he's with Red Alert.

That's not so fun.

Because Red is _strict_. He doesn't let you look at interesting things on the human internet, or spend the time playing a game, or even talk to pass the time. He takes his job too seriously for that, and slag anybody else who doesn't. Rewind's had his share of being reported to Prowl by Red Alert for 'goofing around' or 'acting up' or just plain old 'dereliction of duty' to bother trying anything anymore. Now, he just suffers in silence, only answering when someone talks to him, counting down the hours until he's a free cassette again.

Unfortunately, his shift just started.

He dares a stretch, rolling his shoulders to relieve the tension in his cabling. Red Alert glares at him. Rewind sighs, and looks at his console again.

He's got six vidfeeds displaying at once, and audio feeds connected to his systems through a port in his wrist. And nothing is going on.

Empty rec room. Empty airfield. Bluestreak on the shooting range. Sideswipe in the mess hall. Laserbeak in her cell. Skyview of the harbor.

Empty rec room. Empty airfield. Bluestreak on the shooting range. Sideswipe in the mess hall. Laserbeak in her cell. Skyview of the harbor.

Empty rec room. Empty airfield. Bluestreak on the shooting range. Sideswipe in the mess hall. Laserbeak in her cell. Skyview of the harbor…

Rewind fights the temptation to whack his helm against the screen. Red Alert would surely report him for that.

Empty rec room. Empty airfield. Bluestreak on the shooting range. Eject barreling into the mess hall carrying a datapad and grinning. Laserbeak in her cell. Skyview of the harbor.

Wait.

He turns his attention to the one camera feed that's actually depicting something interesting. Eject is laughing, showing Sideswipe something on the datapad. Suddenly, the silver frontliner begins laughing as well, downing the rest of his cube in one go and getting to his feet. Then, both of them leave the mess hall.

Rewind follows them as much as he can. To Bluestreak on the range, where Eject repeats the process. The feeds have no audio, but Rewind can tell from the gunner's heavily vibrating doorwings that he's laughing too. Ironhide and some of the human soldiers wander in from off-screen, and apparently whatever's so funny is also fun to the humans, because one of them whacks his palm against Sideswipe's leg and another is rubbing at his eyes with his hands. Ironhide's mirth is clear through the feed, too, optics scrunched up and head shaking.

What the frag is going on?

Rewind cycles through the camera feeds, checking all of them – not just the ones feeding to his own console, but the ones Red is keeping tabs on as well. He follows Eject as he brings his laughing entourage to the barracks, to the officer's quarters, to the hand-to-hand training area. All the time picking up more laughing mechs and humans.

This is just too weird.

He tries pinging his brother, opening their bond, but all he gets from Eject is a solid wall of mirth. Not helpful.

And now he's getting curious. Very curious. And curiosity, as the humans say, killed the cat.

Not that that saying makes much sense to him. Why would being curious kill an organic feline?

Maybe their brains are too unevolved to handle such an emotion?

Internet probably knows. Rewind makes a note to look it up when he has the chance.

For now, though, there's something else far more interesting going on.

"Red Alert, sir," Rewind says, frowning. "There's something going on among the troops. Permission to go see what all the fuss is about?"

Red Alert shoots him a look, apparently checking if he's 'goofing off' again, but seeing Rewind staring intently at the vidfeed apparently convinces the paranoid Security Director that the cassette is in fact doing his duty at the moment. He turns his focus to his own console, looking at the same vidfeeds.

"It appears so," he agrees after a minute. "All right. A quick check, and then back here. If this is something we need to be wary of, it's better to know now."

"It's probably nothing, sir," Rewind says, mentally kicking himself for possibly sabotaging his chance to get out of here for a little while at least. "After all, they're laughing."

"Yes," Red Alert replies, frowning at the feeds. "But we cannot be sure. It could be a trick – the Decepticons could have manufactured some form of… I don't know, laughing virus or something, meant to incapacitate us, and have Laserbeak deliver it. They're canny like that." He shoots a look at Rewind. "Go check it out."

Laughing virus? Rewind barely restrains himself from shaking his head. Sometimes the Security Director's notions are more far-fetched than usual. Still, it gets him out of command for a few minutes. "Yes, sir."

A quick look at the screens revealed that the epicenter of humor is back on the clearing between med bay and the barracks, so Rewind heads that way in search of his brother. He doesn't have to look for long.

"Rewind! Rewind, come look! Look!" Eject's excited voice beckons at him, the mirth and amusement in his brother's spark willingly shared over their bond and much stronger in such close proximity. Rewind is laughing almost before he reaches his brother's side.

"What's up?" he grins. "What are we laughing about?"

"This!" Eject beams, holding up his datapad.

Rewind peers at it. "Youtube? What have you found now?"

"Just watch, bro!" Eject says impatiently, pushing the datapad into Rewind's hands.

So he watches. And he understand why everyone's laughing.

The footage is from a cell phone camera. It's a city, one he doesn't recognize. The video, helpfully, is called 'London dancing in the street, madness ensues', so at least he has a name for the city. There's a store front, shining lights in the windows, lots and lots of people. The time stamp's from yesterday.

He plugs the datapad into the port on his wrist to get audio. The music's glaringly loud and distorted by the speaker system, until it's barely recognizable as music to him and just sounds like noise. Based on the people in the video though, it has to be music. Nobody dances to noise.

The person who's filming is standing at the edge of a cordoned-off open space in front of a music store of sorts. There's a small group of people dancing inside the cordons, moving more or less along with the music, all wearing their winter jackets and hats. And in the middle of the group, a familiar, slender figure.

She's grinning wildly, her blonde hair flying around her face as she twists and moves along with the music. It doesn't seem to bother her that she's in the middle of a crowd, surrounded by people she doesn't know. She's just having fun.

And Rewind's having fun watching her.

The music/noise changes, and the people in the impromptu dance floor giggle and walk away in ones and twos.

Except for Isobel. She's wide-eyed, giggling madly, bouncing up and down with her hands pressed to her mouth. Then she pivots, looking around the crowd, before darting over to the cordons and pulling at the sleeve of someone – a someone who, Rewind realizes after a moment, is a somewhat hesitant but still smiling Bumblebee. He resists for a moment, but then gives in with good grace, following Isobel into the center of the space. When he moves, Groove is revealed standing behind him, smiling overbearingly at his friends.

There are cat-calls and whistles as Bumblebee moves into position behind Isobel, one hand on her waist and one on her chin, turning her face towards him. They stare at each other for a moment, grinning. And then they're off.

Bumblebee pushes Isobel out into a fast spin, taking hold of her hand to control the movement. Except, instead of stopping her when she came to the end of their reach, he follows, letting her fall slightly forward until he catches her around her waist again, lifting her up. The crowd cheers.

And then Bumblebee slips on a patch of ice, promptly dropping them both to the ground.

Rewind winces, even though he knows that a tumble like that won't hurt the holoform. Isobel, though, is another matter. Thankfully, it seems that she's crashed down on top of Bumblebee. He's not soft either, Rewind knows, but he's softer than the ground.

The crowd is laughing. So is Isobel. Groove looks concerned, but they're quickly back on their feet, resuming what Rewind realizes is a practiced routine. He's impressed. So's the crowd, by the sound of things – and they should be, too. He's willing to bet that the routine they're doing is not normal fare for this kind of thing. If it wasn't for that fall, maybe they would have been considered professional performers.

Until their moves change, at least.

He watches as the routine descends into total silliness. They're still moving in sync, but now it's less class and more sass, somehow. His optic ridges raise as Isobel somehow seems to be walking backwards and forwards at the same time (something he didn't think humans were capable of due to the configuration of their skeletal structure) before Bumblebee catches her and spins her again.

And then the promised mayhem ensues. Because the choreographed routine turns into some form of one-uppance, where it looks like Bumblebee and Isobel each are trying to outdo each other. The moves turn steadily more strange, more parodic, until Isobel caps the whole thing by tugging Bee's hat down over his eyes and spinning him until he's facing away. Then she pushes him straight into Groove's arms, raising her arms in triumph.

That grin, though. That grin is his undoing, and suddenly Rewind is laughing as hard as everyone else. Because the camera's zooming in on Isobel, and she winks at it. Probably not at that exact cell phone, unless it's the only one filming, but she winks, in an expression not unlike Eject's when Blaster caught him with a hand in the box of energon goodies. And behind her, Bumblebee's laughing in Groove's arms, while the Protectobot carefully tries – and fails – to get him to stand on his own feet instead of dangling from Groove's arms like a puppet. In the end he gives up and just drops him, leaving Bumblebee laughing helplessly in a pile at Groove's feet.

The video has half a million views already.

Rewind disconnects from the datapad, turning to his still-grinning brother. "Has everyone seen this?"

Eject, of course, knows exactly what he means. "Wanna come with me and show First Aid?"

* * *

Crashing into the med bay, into the domain of the Hatchet, while grinning and cackling like idiots, is a surefire road to a wrench to the helm. So Rewind insists that they be responsible, standing outside and pinging for entrance for once instead of barging in.

Which is a good thing, at least if one is to judge by the noises coming from inside the doors. Cautiously, Rewind leans closer, listening to the two pairs of pedefalls, the quiet moaning, the soft murmurs and the faint slide of metal against metal.

Oh, yes. He grins at his brother, who smirks wickedly back at him. They would have gotten much worse than a helm to the head today.

Still, they're mechs on a mission. So Rewind pings for entrance again.

"Frag it," someone swears from inside. Eject giggles quietly.

Ratchet opens the doors, glares down at them. "What do you two glitches want?"

"First Aid," Eject pipes up. "Can we borrow him for a moment?"

Ratchet sighs, then nods his head towards the other end of the hall. "Inventory. Get out of here."

"Yes, Ratchet," Rewind grins. "Thank you!"

"Have fun in there!" Eject smirks, before dodging out of the way of the expected wrench. Ratchet growls at them before closing the door again and locking it.

'So who do you think it was?'

Eject turns and grins at him. 'I know who it was. You do, too.'

'Yeah,' Rewind nods. 'No surprise there.'

'Except how long it took Ratchet to cave,' Eject agrees. 'Like Stanley Cup playoffs, but, like, triple."

Rewind just shrugs. He has a feeling he would need a degree in sports in one of those human universities to understand his brother's references. Still, the meaning is clear enough. 'Yeah.'

They find First Aid in the back, doing inventory, just as Ratchet said. He turns when they arrive, carefully putting down the box of equipment he's moving. "Hey, you two. What brings you here?"

"We wanted to show you this!" Eject is bouncing now, grabbing at the apprentice medic's hand and tugging to get him to sit down. First Aid, nice as he is, complies easily, dropping to the floor with his legs akimbo in front of him. Eject snuggles into his side, holding up the datapad, so Rewind goes to the Protectobot's other side and sits down there.

Eject hits play, turns the sound up, and settles down with a grin to watch the video again.

Rewind, though? Rewind watches First Aid. Surreptitiously, out of the corner of his eye, concealed by his visor, he watches. Looking at First Aid watching Isobel is more interesting than watching Isobel herself.

The Protectobot is focusing on the screen. His face is concealed behind visor and surgical mask, but Rewind has long experience reading emotions despite those kinds of shielding. He knows what he's looking at.

First Aid's fascinated. Then amused. And then entranced.

Rewind watches as First Aid gently lifts a hand up, fingers tracing delicately in the air above the datapad. Tracing his human's outline.

"What's it like?" Eject asks quietly. "Being in love with a human?"

First Aid retracts his mask, lets them see his smile. "Being in love is the most fantastic thing you can imagine. This knowledge that there's someone out there that I would give my absolute everything for, happily, and that would do the same for me, it's… It's a heady, powerful thing, guys. And her being human doesn't matter." His voice softens, as Isobel winks up at them from the screen. "Love doesn't differentiate. Isobel is perfect."

"The different species thing can make problems for you, though," Rewind points out.

"Yes," First Aid agrees. He turns his head, looks down at the cassette. "But tell me something worth having that isn't worth fighting for."

"She's worth fighting for?" Eject asks softly, looking at the paused image of the blonde human.

"She's worth it all," First Aid replies, looking down at the woman on the screen again.

Rewind looks from the datapad to First Aid and back. Yeah. Yeah, he'd say it looks like she is, to First Aid. The medic's got it bad.

And, apparently, despite all evidence to the contrary, despite them being so completely different, despite all that, it's not a bad thing.

*Rewind, where are you?*

Rewind jumps about two feet into the air in alarm. "Oh, slag! I'm supposed to be on duty!"

Eject laughs hard enough to fall over as Rewind bolts to his feet and races out.

* * *

Monitor duty on Diego Garcia can be okay enough, Rewind muses. Especially when he's sharing it with easy-going Arcee. She chatters at him a bit, but is just as content in the silence, and she doesn't care if he's playing quiz games on his console along with the vidfeed.

Yeah, he likes Arcee. Not as much as Blaster likes her, of course. Though he suspects that First Aid likes Isobel more than Blaster likes Arcee.

Oh well. Statistics show that more couples break up than bond, if only by a small margin. So he's not worried. It will happen or it won't.

Right now, he's more concerned with the vidfeeds, for once. Because Skyfire just landed. And Rewind watches as Isobel comes darting out of the plane, throwing herself into a waiting First Aid's arms. A glance over at Arcee's console shows that she's watching the same thing, even though they're strictly not supposed to watch the same feeds at the same time.

Still, they both watch. Because First Aid is holding Isobel tightly, and Isobel's clinging to him, and maybe both the femme and the cassette are curious as to what such a relationship feels like.

Rewind, thankful yet again for his visor, watches Arcee; the wistful half-smile, the soft optics.

Yeah, it'll work out or it won't. He hopes it does, though. It would be interesting.


	3. Slag the way things are

_A/N: this ficlet is for KayleeChiara, part of the 100 reviews giveaway. Her prompt: "I was thinking Bee the matchmaker in this story deserves a little of his own. Could be amusing especially with Arcee (just from her squeals and girlishness)."_

 _Somehow, I managed to dodge 'amusing' completely, but I hope you enjoy it! It's completely Mirage-free ;)_

 _This fits into chapter 14: Reunion of "You had me at holoform", just after Bumblebee's dropped off Isobel to see First Aid again._

 _Warning for some mech/mech intimacy of the non-sticky kind. You can call it slash if you truly believe that Transformers have genders._

* * *

Slag the way things are

* * *

Bumblebee watches in exasperation as the little blonde vanishes into the medbay. Seriously. How much prodding is really necessary to get one little human to talk to the mech she's obviously in love with?

Then again, Optimus has been chasing Ratchet forever, and Jazz took ages to mech up and talk to Prowl about something other than work. Maybe that's just the way it is.

He turns, walks back towards the hangar. Maybe Blue's still there and will be up for a game or something. They're both still on light duty, gaming's pretty much the only safe choice.

"Hey, Blue, d'you –"

The words die in his throat as his optics land on the pair on the sofa. Fireflight's apparently done with his briefing already, and is getting his vents thoroughly examined by Bluestreak's eager glossa.

"Mechs, the tie thing," Bumblebee says, somewhat irritated. It's so slagging annoying to always walk in on someone. "You're supposed to hang a rope on the hangar door when you're busy, remember? To stop this kind of interruption from happening?" It was one of the better ideas the humans had ever had, in his opinion.

"Sorry, Bee," Bluestreak says, and he sounds properly embarrassed. "We got carried away."

Bumblebee looks around for the piece of nylon rope that Sideswipe's affectionately named the Frag Strap (and instantly had found a much better use for, up to the point that he's worn out three of them and Bumblebee keeps a coil of rope under his bed to replace them when they get too frayed) and, having found it, loops it around the hangar door pull. "There. Now you've got the place to yourselves."

"You don't have to go, Bumblebee," Fireflight says tentatively. "We can behave. Don't leave on my account."

Bee just shakes his head. He's got no desire to be the third wheel, not today. It's getting old. "Don't worry about me, I have to go do something for Jazz. I just came by to get something." He walks over to his berth, digs around in his locked drawer for a while before subspacing the signal scrambler that he knows to be broken but the others don't. "There." He flashes them a grin, making sure to make it convincing. Judging by the way Fireflight relaxes, he managed. "Enjoy your downtime, mechs. Don't do anything Jazz wouldn't do."

Bluestreak grins and waves at him before attacking Fireflight's shoulder vents again. Bee makes sure to shut the hangar doors properly behind him, leaving the blue rope clearly visible. Blue's deserved to have his fun.

Even if it makes Bumblebee all kinds of grumpy.

Not that it's Blue. His friend is just that – a good friend, a decent partner-in-crime, and a load of fun, but nothing more.

But yeah, kind of that it's Blue. Because it's one more person that Bee will have to share.

"Hey lil'Bee, where ya off to?" Jazz waves at him as he walks past command. "Ya off-duty? Want t'hang out?"

Jazz is fun, most of the time. He can get up to the craziest schemes, and Bee's usually protected from the fallout. Because Prowl is hesitant to hand out punishment to his own mate, and Jazz never gives any names.

Speaking of mates…

The other black-and-white exits command, rests a hand casually but oh so caringly on Jazz's shoulder.

"Hello, Bumblebee," Prowl says, giving him a small smile. "Enjoying being out of the medbay?"

It took them a while to get together, but when they finally did it was like two suns colliding – twice the heat, twice the energy, and felt in all directions. And Bumblebee just can't stand being near that nucleus of affection these days. Jazz by himself, yeah – but Jazz with the other half of his existence, with the small, loving touches, and the looks?

Pit, no.

"Yeah, I'm heading to the rec room," Bumblebee lies easily. Part of the job, being good at that. Even to his immediate superiors. Even to Prime, if necessary. "Thought I'd see if I could dig out a game for later."

"Sounds good," Jazz nods. "Lemme know if ya need another player, huh? Ah'm up for anythin'."

"Sure thing, Jazz," Bee nods, grinning widely. "I'll see what I can drum up."

He fools Jazz, too. Of course he does. It's not the first time, and it won't be the last.

Ironhide and Chromia are on the training field. Bee stops to watch for a moment, but the way Chromia celebrates her every win by kissing the nearest part of Ironhide rubs him the wrong way and he moves on fairly quickly. He tries not to let his frustration show, giving them a cheerful wave as he walks past.

Yeah, nothing to see here. Just little baby Bumblebee, everyone's friend, walking through the base the way he usually does. Nothing of interest here to bonded pairs.

Nothing of interest here to anybot, really.

Sides and Sunny are sparring. That's always worth watching, if a little scary – they're like two deadly whirlwinds, crashing and twisting and spinning into and around each other. Bee knows he wouldn't last a minute against either of them in serious combat.

Thank Primus they're Autobots. Or Prime's soldiers would be in serious trouble.

A loud clang, a snarled curse, and the twins break apart. Sunstreaker is furious, examining a long gouge in the plating down one arm.

Bumblebee winces. If anyone but Sideswipe had caused that, the offender would already be en route to the med bay.

But since it was Sideswipe… Bumblebee watches as Sunstreaker shoots deadly looks at his brother, while Sideswipe touches the offended plating gently, softly, murmuring consolations and apologies, moving ever closer until he's close enough to press tiny kisses against his mate's jawline and cheek. Sunstreaker can hold out against the barrage of affection for a few moments, but then his expression softens into what Bumblebee recognizes as Sunstreaker's Public Smile – that is, a small quirk to one side of the mouth. Sideswipe, of course, takes full advantage, hunting down his brother's lip plates and pressing against him eagerly.

Sunstreaker can't resist, of course. Sunstreaker never can resist Sideswipe.

With one last look at what is looking to turn into something quite different from sparring but no less impressive to watch, Bumblebee walks away, his tanks churning.

Must be nice to be born with your mate at your side. You're never truly alone then, and there's always someone who can see past the façade and get what's truly going on inside.

Bumblebee forces a bright smile at Inferno as the fire truck passes him, giving him a wave.

There're bonded mechs everywhere around him today, it seems. He amends that in his head as he catches a glimpse of Blaster lifting a finger to run down Arcee's cheek before she transforms and speeds away, and of First Aid's alt mode barrelling down the path with a giggling Isobel in the front seat.

There are bonded mechs and pit-slagging _lovebirds_ everywhere around him today, it seems. And suddenly it's all too much.

Taking a leaf out of Arcee's book (the humans have the most interesting expressions, he needs to thank Isobel for that one when he can stomach to see her next) he drops down into his alt mode and shoots out into the jungle.

* * *

The jungle's never quiet, but at least it's free of the lovey-dovey romance crap. This is supposed to be an army, for Primus' sake. Iacon's finest. Not a slagging family grouping.

Bumblebee sighs, a heavy ex-vent that shakes the leaves and grass around him.

It's not that he begrudges any of them the companionship. Or the deep, profound emotion. He just… wishes there was a bit more of it to go around.

Enough for him too, maybe. Not that he'll tell them that.

Okay, so he's jealous. Insanely so. Seeing everyone shack up with the same people day after day, meeting them for breakfast, seeing them wave at him cheerfully while they walk off with the mech who fulfils them better, being replaced like that over and over again – it hurts. A lot.

Bumblebee offlines his optics, focuses his sensors outward. The noises of the jungle are the first thing he hears – the birds and reptiles, the wind in the trees, the gentle wash of the waves against the shore.

And then he hears the rest.

Arcee and Groove, making good headway on the path around the island, engines similar but very different. Arcee's ahead by a good few meters.

The sound of sparring – or something similar yet very different – from the practice green. Probably sparring. Not even the twins would be that bold in public and in broad daylight.

Blaster, laughing at something, and his cassettes echoing him. That's a different kind of companionship.

When he catches breathy moans and someone whispering Bluestreak's name, he shuts his sensors down. Hard. Hard enough that he offlines his audios completely.

Now he's in effect blind and deaf until he chooses not to be.

It's… kind of pleasant, actually.

He focuses on the warmth of the sun on his plating, the gentle breeze moving across his sensor horns, the soft tickling of vegetation against his peds and legs.

He understands now, what Groove's talking about when he's spouting all that stuff about harmony with the world around them. This is very peaceful. So _relaxing_ , man.

He doesn't know how long he sits there for. Long enough for most of the tension to drain away.

It takes him a few moments to notice the vibrations. They're not strong, not worrisome, nothing out of the ordinary, but the tension creeps back as they get stronger.

He onlines his audios again to hear the two motorcycle engines on the road behind him. They're coming closer, reaching the last quarter of their patrol route, their progress echoing in the ground underneath them. Arcee's still keeping ahead of Groove – her engine's running a little hot.

Until she stops on the path behind him, just where he knows she can see him if she looks in the right direction.

He doesn't move, doesn't indicate that he knows she's there. She knows that he knows, of course.

The other bike catches up, slows to a stop.

"Groove, you okay to take the last bit alone? I need to talk to Bee for a moment." Arcee's voice is soft, but he's meant to overhear. Meant to be able to walk away if he wants to.

He can't seem to make up his mind.

"Sure thing," the bike-former Protectobot replies easily. "I'll tell Prowl."

"Thanks." The sounds of a transformation, and then soft pede-steps in the soil behind him.

She sits down next to him. "Hi."

He onlines his optics reluctantly. "Hey."

"Whatcha doing?"

"Party-planning," he replies, shooting her a cheeky grin. It's worked on everyone else today. "Isobel says we can have a Christmas party, and Christmas is only a month and a half away, so…"

"So you thought you'd get an early start," she finishes for him. "Yeah, no, sorry Bee, I don't buy that."

He doesn't respond. Just looks at the waves meeting the shore. Washing up, draining away, over and over, erasing every trace of last time.

"Want to talk about it?" she asks quietly.

He snorts. "Does it seem like I want to talk about it?"

"Not hiding out here, it doesn't," she replies, and he doesn't need to look at her to know she's smiling. "Maybe you need to talk about it even so."

When he doesn't reply, she looks out to the sea. "Nice place you found here. It's very peaceful."

"Yeah." He hesitates, considering if he should continue the conversation or not. "I like the waves. And the wind."

"It's almost meditative, isn't it," she muses. "I could probably fall into recharge right here."

Yeah, he bets she could. He knows for a fact that she didn't get much recharge last night.

The walls aren't exactly thick.

"So how are things with you and Blaster?" he asks, not caring if the segue makes it painfully obvious that he knows what they've been up to.

"Oh, well enough," she responds, blushing slightly. "He's a good mech. The kindest spark I've ever encountered, I think, barring Prime. And maybe First Aid, but he's coded that way." She sighs, stretches her elegant legs down in front of her. "Not sure we're meant to last, but it's fun for now."

"Do you love him?" Awkwardly blunt, bordering on rude, maybe, but he can't find it in him to care.

"I… I don't know. Is that weird? To not know if you love someone or not?"

He mulls that over for a moment. "Nah," he replies finally. "Nah, it's not weird. It's probably more normal than you'd think."

"Well, that's a relief." She looks at him then. "What about you, Bumblebee?"

"What about me?"

"Someone special catching your eye?"

"No," he says, truthfully. "There's no one." Very truthfully, in fact.

"What about Wheeljack? Didn't you and he hit it off on Halloween?"

Bumblebee snorts at that. "You know 'Jack. Once he's hit the high grade, he'll kiss pretty much anyone. He did, too."

"It was a bit more than kissing, though, wasn't it?" Arcee pushes carefully. "You left with him, didn't you?"

It's no point denying it. She wasn't the only one who saw them leave together.

"So what happened?"

Not interested in talking about that, thanks.

Arcee's not that easy to deter, though. Stubborn femme. "Bumblebee, what happened?"

He sights, the warm ex-vent ghosting over both of their plating. "Let's say it like this. It wasn't really me he wanted to be with."

She takes a moment to digest that. "…Oh. Shouted for someone else, did he? I hear he does that sometimes. He's always very contrite afterwards, though. He's kind that way."

Bumblebee doesn't say anything. He'd known that, too. That's not the bad part.

"Bee?" she prompts after a while. "Did he at least apologize?"

He's quiet for a moment, then shakes his head. "He doesn't remember."

Arcee, to her credit, looks incredulous. And annoyed. "He doesn't remember?"

"Too much high grade." Bumblebee hugs his legs up to his chest. "He doesn't remember me that night at all."

"Pit, Bee, I'm sorry. That sucks," Arcee says, all sympathy.

Like that's what he wants.

He shrugs. "Doesn't matter. Not like it's important."

That was too much, though. He didn't manage to hide well enough, saying that.

"But it is, isn't it?" she says softly.

"I think I'm going to head back," he says abruptly, standing. "You're welcome to stay here if you want. It's a nice spot."

"Bumblebee. Wait." The tone isn't sharp, but it is firm, and he can't argue with that any more than he can with Prime.

And then warm, slim fingers glide across his neck cables.

He spins. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Proving to you that you're not undesirable," she replies coolly. "That's the main problem, isn't it?"

Great. As if the sympathy wasn't bad enough.

"I don't want your pity, femme," he spits, spinning again and walking away.

"You're not getting it," she snarls back. "I don't do pity frags. But if you're going to act like a brat whenever someone propositions you, it's no wonder you're not getting any."

That stings. And he has no retort, no sharp comeback that will shut her up, no defense. He feels hollow, all of a sudden. He'd walk away, if there was any point to it.

He can feel her behind him again, moving closer. She goes for his hand, this time.

"Bee?"

"No one propositions me," he replies, trying for a chuckle and failing. "So why should you bother, right?"

"For how long?" she asks softly.

He turns, dares to look at her. "Huh?"

"How long has this been going on for?"

He shrugs. "Longer than I care to remember. Since we got to this planet, I think. It's just the way it is. Don't make a fuss about it." He straightens, pretends that it's okay. He can do that much. Maybe she'll forget about it. Then he can pretend that this conversation never happened. "I'm going to head back now. See you around."

He manages to take all of one step before she takes him by the hand and pulls him back.

He thought she might try something.

The kiss is a bit of a surprise, though.

He takes her by her slender shoulders, pushes her back. "Arcee, what are you doing?"

"Proving a point," she replies in a murmur. "You willing?"

"You're spoken for, though, aren't you?" he asks in the same soft tone. "You don't get to do this."

She snorts. "The day Blaster tells me that I can't prove to a friend how hot he really is is the day me and Blaster are through. Besides, I wasn't planning to exclude him." She leans in, gently nuzzling against his throat. "You're not against a bit of company, are you, Bee?"

Now what can a mech say to that?

Slag it if he knows.

"Good," she grins. "Come on."

* * *

He follows her back to the base proper, his alt mode shadowing hers on the narrow jungle path.

*I've asked Blaster to meet us at the hangar,* Arcee comms him. *And to have his cassettes busy elsewhere.*

Bumblebee doesn't reply. He doesn't need to.

The big red boombox is waiting outside the hangar doors, as asked. He smiles at them as Bumblebee echoes Arcee and transforms into root mode.

"Hey pretty, hey lil'Bee, what's up?"

Bumblebee looks down, then turns away. "This is a bad idea. I'm just going to go."

"Don't you dare," Arcee says, reaching out and catching his hand, pulling at him until he's facing her again. His optics meet the scrutinizing look in hers for an endless nano-klik.

"It's the 'little' thing, isn't it?" she says softly, not really asking. "You're tired of being everyone's little brother."

He shrugs, tries to pull away. "It's just a nick name. It's no big deal."

Arcee must have increased the tensile strength in her arm or something. He can't seem to pull his hand out of hers.

"Come on, Bumblebee," she says softly. "Let us prove to you that you're worth it." She pulls him along, snaps up Blaster on the way, and still manages to loop a piece of blue rope around the door pull.

Huh. Good to know that someone remembers to use that, at least.

Blaster looks from the rope, to Bumblebee, to Arcee. "So want to enlighten me?"

Don't tell him. Please, don't tell him.

"Bumblebee's been feeling a bit down," Arcee says, pulling him further into the hangar. "So I brought him back here to cheer him up a bit. You don't mind, right?" A pink finger runs down Blaster's chest, elegantly dancing over the plating.

Well, that explanation he can live with. It's accurate, if not the entire truth.

"Mind?" The boombox grins. "Honey, you know I don't mind." He leans in, kisses her softly. Bumblebee looks away. He would have left, if it wasn't for Arcee holding his hand in a death-grip.

He reluctantly lets himself be pulled along to the back of the hangar. This one's been modified somewhat, compared to the half he shares with both sets of twins and Blue – it's not much, but the plywood walls erected between the berths at least give the illusion of privacy.

And Arcee and Blaster have bolted their berths together. Fancy that. The mini bunk-bed arrangement across the hall – a hall only because of the plywood compartments – must be for the cassettes.

Blaster backs Arcee up until her legs hit the edge of the berth, pushing her down gently until she's on her back. Bumblebee's pulled along as she keels over, forcing him to walk up alongside the berth and stand next to her torso. As Blaster follows Arcee down, mouth moving on hers and hands already roaming over her body, she finally lets go of Bumblebee's hand. For a brief moment, she watches him, and he stands still – but then Blaster hits a particularly sensitive spot, and Arcee shutters her optics, gasping.

Bumblebee stands still for a short moment, then quietly walks away.

"Whoa there, Bee, where are you goin?" Blaster's suddenly behind him, hands moving gently on Bumblebee's arms, mouth nuzzling at a sensor horn.

"I'm intruding," Bee replies, almost inaudibly. "I'm going to go."

"You're not intruding," Blaster murmurs. "I don't know why you would even think that." His hands, clever, clever digits, stroking up across his shoulder, his mouth leaning against Bee's neck cables and humming.

Clever, clever mouth.

He lets himself be redirected back towards the berth. Blaster pushes gently, fingers probing sensitive transformation seams and dipping into the gaps between plating to tickle at the cabling underneath. When the front of Bumblebee's legs hit the side of the berth, Arcee sits up and takes both of his hands. She uses them to pull herself up, letting her frame come into contact with every part of his, sucking at his lower lip.

"Come on, pretty Bee," Blaster croons, pushing him gently. "Let me enjoy that hot yellow plating."

Bumblebee twists with the fall, landing on his back next to Arcee. "Hot yellow plating?"

Blaster flashes him a grin that's downright evil. "Totally hot yellow plating. Do you know," a kiss to the inside of one leg, "how long," clever digits dipping into the gap on the front of his hip, "I've been wanting to do this?"

Bumblebee just stares at him.

"It's true," Arcee murmurs next to him, leaning over and mouthing at a sensor horn, making him shiver. "We have a list, you know. You top his."

"Yeah?" He turns his head, catches her mouth, as Blaster moves up into the bed with them. "Who tops yours?"

"Bluestreak," Arcee giggles, "but now that he's with Fireflight that's not happening." She kisses him, reaching down with a hand to pull Blaster up closer to them. "So it's a good thing we got you," she murmurs against his mouth. "Plus, bonus, we can make you forget."

"Forget?" Blaster says, running his fingers down Bumblebee's sides, static charge already sparking from plating to fingertips. Bumblebee gasps as his core temperature climbs several degrees and his cooling fans kick in. "Dunno what you don't want to remember, but we can make you forget, pretty Bee. Gorgeous, sexy Bumblebee." He nuzzles at Bee's chestplates, then moves up to hover over his mouth. "I can totally make you forget."

And then Bumblebee's kissed, thoroughly, ferociously, needily, as clever, clever digits caress every part of his plating, and the charge rises and rises until he forgets his own name, forgets Wheeljack forgetting him, forgets where they are. Everything is pink and red and white and gold. And it's better than anything has been since they landed on this planet.

* * *

Later, he sits at the edge of the berth, watching his own holoform. He changes it slowly – golden curls darkening, shortening, lengthening, straightening, cheekbones more prominent, less prominent, eyebrows darkening, eyelashes lengthening, shortening. Wider shoulders, narrower waist, more angular, more round, taller, shorter, slimmer, more muscular, more tattoos, less tattoos. It's a constant, gradual change, the holoform slowly morphing from one form to the other.

"I didn't know you could use that while in root mode," Arcee murmurs into his audial. She leans forward, rests her chin on his shoulder. "Most of the rest of us can't."

"It's a design spec version," Bumblebee replies, distracted by what he's doing. "It's not solid."

"Seamless coding on the fly? Very impressive, pretty Bee." Blaster kisses his way up Bumblebee's arm. "What are you trying to do?"

"He's trying to age it," Arcee replies, letting one hand glide around his waist components to trace the center seam down his chest. "He wants to look older, don't you, Bee?"

"You were right," Bumblebee replies, returning the holoform's original look and starting over. "I'm dead tired of being everyone's little brother. I'm fed up with being the third wheel, the spare, the friend. I want to be more."

"You are more," Blaster replies, moving to pull the smaller Autobot into his lap. "Haven't I convinced you?"

"You've helped," Bumblebee replies, turning his head and catching Blaster's mouth with his own, deepening the kiss as the boombox moans. Arcee presses up against his back, mouthing at his neck cabling. "A lot, actually. But the moment I leave here, it'll be back to the way it was. And I don't want that anymore. I want to change the status quo."

"Good for you," Arcee breathes, rising up on her knees to get at his sensor horns. "Do you really have to leave yet, though?"

"No," Bumblebee says, grinning against Blaster's insistent mouth, letting the taller mech pull him back down onto the berth. "No, I guess I don't."


	4. Finding the grey

_A/N: this is the third ficlet to come out of the 100 reviews requests. Eleanor M requested Jazz x Prowl fluff and maybe more, so here we go!_

 _I've realized that these two are my one true pairing. I'll mess with pretty much every other established pair, throw mechs together in crack pairings left and right, but these two split up just doesn't sit right with me. And I fell for the temptation to do an origin of sorts because these two gravitating towards each other is pretty much the most romantic thing I know of._

 _This ficlet quotes the G1 episode "More than meets the eye part 1"._

 _Grey area: an area or part of something existing between two extremes and having mixed characteristics of both._

* * *

 **Finding the grey**

* * *

 _Back then..._

* * *

 _First meeting_

The sound of his footsteps is even, loud, ominous. He pauses outside the door, checking himself. Straight posture. Doorwings at an exact angle – strict, but calm. Stern frown in place. Weapons easily available, if needed. Not that they should be. The prisoner is secure, but this is a tricky one. He'd given them vorns of trouble before he fell into their grasp.

Then he opens the door and goes inside.

The shadow-colored mech is slouching in the chair across the table. He looks oblivious to the world, like he's not paying attention to anything. All an act, off course.

Prowl sits down in the other chair, steeples his fingers and looks across at the red visor. "Hello, Meister."

The other sneers. "Well, if it ain't Prime's pet enforcer. Ya know these won't hold me." He lifts his hands, indicate the stasis cuffs encasing his wrists. The setting on the cuffs must either be lower than recommended or he's doggedly fighting through the effect, because he shouldn't be able to use his arms if the cuffs were functioning at the correct capacity. Prowl estimates a 78.6 percent chance that the near-black mech is fighting through it. This is Meister, after all.

And bearing that in mind, the likelihood that he's fighting it is closer to 86 percent. He amends his plan accordingly.

"They seem to be doing their job so far," Prowl replies, keeping his voice deceptively mild. "We have insurances in place. You are not the first Decepticon to pass through here."

The black mech shoots to his feet so fast that Prowl actually misses the movement – one minute Meister is sitting, the next he's standing up and leaning as far forward as the chains permit him. "Ah'm not a 'Con!" he hisses.

Prowl makes a show out of consulting his datapad. "Ah, yes. You consider yourself to be a free operative, do you not?"

"Free as a breeze, Autobot," Meister grins, falling back into the chair and grinning lazily. These quicksilver moods would be intimidating to a lesser mech, but Prowl has done this before.

"Free to blow up the warehouse district in Simfur using the energon stored on-site?"

"Not me." Meister waves a hand, and Prowl is worried anew about the state of the cuffs. "Anyone coulda done that, though, th'energon was jus' lyin' there bein' all volatile and stuff."

"I see. And what about the assassination of senator Momus?"

"Ya peggin' that fragged-up process on me? Please." He snorts. "If Ah'd've done that, ya still wouldn't have known about it. B'sides, that's ancient history. So why am Ah here?" He leans forward, visor intent on Prowl's blue optics. Prowl notes the movement of the other's hands and calculate a 93.2 percent chance that the cuffs are set too low or are malfunctioning. Along with the fact that this is Meister, there's a 98.4 percent chance that sometime in the next few kliks…

"Because you wandered into our path," Prowl replies. "And we'd be fools to let you leave. And because you are guilty."

"Ah've never killed a Senator," Meister chuckles. "Was never paid enough to."

"Guilty of rebellion against the Senate," Prowl amends. "And of innumerable counts of violence, concealing contraband, and associating with a known terrorist group."

"Ah told ya Ah'm not a 'Con!" Meister snarls, and throws himself across the table, hands now free of the cuffs and burying themselves in Prowl's neck.

Ah. That's what he thought.

He has a moment of grim satisfaction that his calculations were accurate before the door is thrown open and the dark mech is hoisted bodily off him.

"Are you alright, sir?" the voice is concerned, if unfamiliar. He takes the proffered hand, pulls himself to his feet.

"I am alright, soldier, thank you." He lifts his hand, rubs at the sore neck cables. "No lasting harm."

"I'll have this one punished," the other, bigger soldier drawls, lifting his baton and preparing to strike Meister down with it. The red-visored mech is grinning fiercely beneath him.

"Negative," Prowl says sharply. "Leave him to me. Secure those stasis cuffs and leave us."

The soldiers fasten a new set of cuffs around the dark wrists, sit Meister back upright in his chair, tightening the chain going between the cuffs and the chain binding the other's legs.

Prowl straightens his chair and sits back down. "Then what are you, Meister, if you are not a Decepticon? The room for Neutral operatives is fast running out."

The grin never falters. But it's more a rigid grimace than an expression of pleasure.

Prowl stands up. "We will talk again soon. In the meantime, I'd suggest you think that question over."

"Or what? Ya goin' ta torture me?"

He pauses with one hand on the door handle. "We don't use torture. That doesn't mean that we do not get the answers we seek."

Then he walks out, leaving the sneering mech behind.

* * *

 _First promises_

He pauses outside the door, just as he's done the last fourteen times he's been down here. Check doorwings, posture, expression. Walks into the room.

Meister looks… defeated. Though Prowl calculates a 67.5 percent chance that it's an act.

"Hello, Meister," he says pleasantly.

The red visor's glow is weaker than usual. "Hello, Prowl," the dark mech replies. His matte black paint is scuffed, worn.

Prowl takes in his appearance again, changes what he was going to say. "You look tired, Meister. Do you not recharge well?"

"Try not at all," Meister mumbles. "Not since last time ya came by." He looks up then, and there's a flash of his usual temper in his red visor. "Ah thought ya said ya didn't use torture."

"We don't," Prowl says, noticing with hidden satisfaction that his calculations were correct, again. With a mech this wild, this unpredictable, he takes note of every victory he can see. "But even you must agree that dangerous prisoners need to be locked up between interrogations."

"Ya locked me up in a room wi' no light and no sound," Meister snarls. "That's torture, mah mech."

"I apologize," Prowl replies smoothly. "We're short on amenities here." He pauses, examines the mech in front of him. Meister hasn't fought him for some time now, he's behaving himself. He seems more willing to listen.

Maybe it's time to set the next part of the plan into action.

"You would prefer noise?" Prowl asks. He already knows the answer, but how Meister answers this will give him an important measure of the dark mech's mentality.

Meister looks away. Or he seems to – his red visor is facing the wall, but who knows where his optics are focused. "Ah prefer sound," he replies testily. "And people around me. Never did well in silence." He turns towards Prowl again, but slowly, as if it bothers him to move. "So how long are ya plannin' ta keep me here for?"

"Right here? Not long at all," Prowl replies, making a sudden decision. But not an uninformed one – his calculations indicate that it has a 89.4 percent chance of succeeding, meaning progress in the case, and the likelihood of a permanent positive solutions will go up to an even 65 percent. It's worth the risk. "In fact, I've come to collect you."

Optic ridges raise above the red visor. "Collect me?"

"Yes," Prowl says, standing up. "You're being moved. Now, I need your word that you will come willingly and not make trouble. If you promise this, you will be unchained and allowed to walk under your own power. If you refuse…"

"Yeah, yeah, Ah get it," Meister sneers. "If Ah refuse, Ah'll be carted like a piece of equipment." He eyes the doorwinged mech speculatively. "Ya know Ah don' give mah word easily."

"I know," Prowl confirms. It's the whole reason he's chancing this. The dark mech has a reputation for never going back on his word. "But this is a mutually beneficial situation without negative consequence to you."

"Unless Ah walk past the perfect opportunity ta escape and can't take it 'cause of my vow," Meister points out, but he's grinning. And for the first time since Prowl first met him it's a thing of mirth, not a grimace. "Okay. Ah promise ta not make trouble an' ta come quietly."

"Thank you," Prowl says, walking around the table. "Give me your hands."

Meister lifts his arms with clear discomfort – the strength of the stasis cuffs has been upped three times since his capture, he shows a remarkable resilience to their effects – and places them on the table. He watches closely as Prowl reaches down and unfastens the cuffs, before kneeling down and unfastening the ankle chains. It's a very vulnerable position, and he doesn't take his gaze away from Meister's hands. For all his vow, he is as unpredictable as ever.

Meister gives a relieved sigh when he's finally released, and he stretches his limbs out eagerly. "Now that's better. Thanks, mah mech." He stands up, not without wavering slightly. Standing, he's just a little shorter than the enforcer – Meister's head reaches to just above Prowl's chin.

Prowl nods at him. "Come."

The shorter mech falls into step next to him easily. "What, no guards?"

Prowl quirks an eyebrow at him. "Do we need any?"

Meister's visor angles, indicating his optics are travelling the full length of Prowl's frame. "Nah," he grins, finally, and the expression is almost sultry. "Nah, mah mech, we don't."

Another attempt to knock him off balance, Prowl muses. Well, that won't work. Meister is not the first prisoner to try, and he won't be the last.

He escorts the dark prisoner down the hallway and up the stairs, taking the left turn at the top. When Meister stops at the end of the hall, staring, Prowl allows the kliks he'd calculated that it would take to get the prisoner past this point.

"Whoa," Meister whispers. "Ya've got quite the view here."

"It is breathtaking," Prowl agrees.

And it is. The base itself isn't that spectacular, but the view of Praxus just beyond is amazing. The lighted towers, the glowing crystals… Prowl could watch it endlessly.

"Ah always thought Praxus was one of the more aesthetically pleasin' places," Meister murmurs. "Iacon, yeah sure, it's grand an' all, and Simfur's got the majesty, but nowhere is as pretty as your city."

"Thank you," Prowl replies, bowing his head. "I happen to agree." He reaches out, lays a hand againt the dark arm. "Come. We must move on."

Meister moves hesitantly, gaze riveted to the view. Prowl allows himself a small smile. "The view is similar from your new quarters."

"Mah quarters?" That has Meister's attention, and he turns away from the window. "Lead on, mah mech."

Prowl takes Meister along one of the more convoluted routes. The dark mech stays by his side all the time, never making trouble, never asking questions, though Prowl has no doubt that every turn they take and detail they pass is noted by that sharp gaze. After a while he's forced to slow down, as Meister's movements begin to show the signs of his long confinement and he lags behind for a moment.

It's a relief to both of them, Prowl thinks, when they finally get to their goal. It's a nondescript door, the only distinctive feature the heavy lock on the outside that Prowl keys open, mindful of prying optics behind a red visor. As he opens the door, he gestures for Meister to enter ahead of him. "This is you."

Meister walks in, looking around eagerly.

The quarters are bare, by most standards, though a good deal better than the cells. There's a berth, a couch, a work station and a large window. There's two more doors set opposite each other, and a vid screen in the corner.

Meister gravitates towards the window.

"I said the view was good from here too," Prowl says quietly, walking up to stand next to him. "Give me a few more moments to show you a few more things here, and I'll leave you to it."

"Okay," the dark mech agrees, reluctantly turning away.

"As you saw, the door locks from the outside," Prowl begins. The explanation is prepared, routine by now – Meister is not the first to hear it. "And only from the outside. This door," he points to the right, "leads to a small, but private, wash rack."

"A wash rack? Ah get mah own wash rack?" Meister is away from the window and through the door before Prowl has the chance to stop him. Not that doing so was necessary.

And the grin on the dark mech's face when he reemerges is worth it.

Meister looks to the other door. "And that one?"

Prowl takes a quick note of posture and doorwings. This is the sensitive part of the explanation, the part where, if Meister is to snap, it will happen now. "That leads to my quarters."

Meister pauses, stares at him. "Ya mean ta say that ya're right next door?"

"Yes."

There's silence for a moment. Then Meister grins. It's not a nice grin. "And Ah suppose that one also locks from the outside. Ah can't keep ya out."

"That is correct."

Meister straightens, arms folded in front of him. "Why?"

"Because you're my responsibility now," Prowl replies simply. "If you harm anyone, I take the blame. If you escape, I take the punishment."

"And then ya take it out on me in return," Meister says calculatingly.

"I will never raise a hand to you in anger," Prowl says, trying to impress on the other mech how serious he is on this. "If any of the above-mentioned happens, you'll go back to the cells."

An eyebrow is arched at him. "Ah won't be your facin' slave, either."

"Of course not." Prowl manages to keep the annoyance out of his voice by sheer force of habit. It says a lot about the state of the Neutral territories, and the ones controlled by the Decepticons, that they all said that. He is tired of it. "That door will only open if there is trouble."

A moment of tenseness, then Meister gradually relaxes. "Ah'll take your word for it."

"Good." Prowl nods, then pulls an energon cube out of subspace and puts it on the table. "Here." At Meister's skeptical expression, he arches an eyebrow wryly. "I haven't poisoned you yet, have I?"

The dark mech grins, then. As he moves for the cube, Prowl walks past him and out through the door. "I will see you tomorrow."

He locks the door behind him, and permits himself a small smile. That went very well indeed.

* * *

 _First report_

Prowl straightens as the comm screen activates. "Prime. Ironhide."

"Prowl," Prime greets him, a slight smile evident in his optics. "How is the prisoner?"

"Better than I had expected at this point," Prowl replies truthfully. "The full information is in my report, but if you want the highlights…?"

"I'd like the highlights," Ironhide grumbles.

Prowl expected that. Ironhide never reads the reports.

"In short, he's showing promise. He's not violent, but he's still observing, testing, always pushing." HE pauses, smiles slightly. "He gets out of his room. I don't know how."

"He gets out of his room?" Ironhide sounds incredulous, as well he should. No one has gotten out of the room yet.

"Yes," Prowl confirms. "And every time, he goes back. He hasn't left, Prime."

Optimus Prime, of course, understands the magnitude of this. "That is very promising. Have you had the chance to evaluate him for future inclusion?"

Prowl hesitates, then shake his head. "He is… recalcitrant. If I push too hard, he will be gone. As it is, I haven't had the chance to even breach the topic with him. He considers himself a free operative. Being an Autobot is not the same as being free in his mind."

"You'll keep working on him?" Ironhide asks.

Prowl inclines his head. "Of course."

And it is of course. Prowl hasn't given up any of these cases yet. Though none of them has been even half as difficult – or important – as Meister.

"How are you holding up, Prowl?" Prime asks, and the doorwinged mech knows that he doesn't mean professionally.

"It is… frustrating, at times, Prime," he admits. "This one is hard to predict, hard to gauge accurately. He often does the opposite of what I expect, and sometimes he seems to do so just because he _knows_ that it is the opposite of what I expect. I've had low-probability chances succeed and guaranteed options fail. But I'm going to keep on working on him." He permits himself a small smile and a twitch of doorwings. "Even if he is the most aggravating mech I have ever met."

"Good," Prime returns. "Keep me apprised, Prowl. Prime out."

Prowl sends the command to turn off the screen, then sighs and turns to the door. Time to bring his annoying charge his evening energon. Hopefully he would be in the room this time.

* * *

 _First comfort_

Prowl sits bolt upright on his berth, and at first, he doesn't know what has woken him up. But then he hears the whimpering again. In a quick motion he's standing, leaning up to the door between his quarters and Meister's, sensors trained to the room beyond.

"No, please, don't," someone cries. "Not them, please, Ah can't… Hurts… No! No! Ah can't, no, stop!"

And then a sparkbreaking wail, breaking down into sobbing, and the litany of words again, before the crying begins.

Meister is crying, screaming, and then there's a loud bang.

For the first time ever, Prowl unlocks the door between the two rooms. He moves as quick as he dares, pulling a gun from subspace just in case. Because if Meister can get out, then who knows what he brought with him back inside.

But the room is empty. He checks the wash rack, but it too is dark and empty. So he turns to the berth.

Where Meister is lying, tossing and turning, coolant tears running down his dark faceplates.

Prowl just stares for a moment.

It's been nearly half a vorn that he's spent with Meister now. This is the first time the mech has a bad recharge flux. At least bad enough for Prowl to notice.

The loud bang comes again, and Prowl realizes that it's Meister throwing his helm against the wall. One of his sensor horns is already dented, and there are streaks of energon on the metal plating.

He could do himself serious injury like that. And he isn't even aware enough to notice.

Cautiously, slowly, Prowl moves over to the berth. He's fairly sure that Meister doesn't have a weapon, but after all this time he also knows that Meister doesn't need one to be dangerous.

Still, he sits down on the edge of the berth.

"Meister. Meister, you're having a bad flux. Meister, wake up." He reaches out to touch a black shoulder.

And suddenly finds himself on his back, a jagged blade pressed against his throat, a snarling dark face just inches from his own.

"Meister," Prowl says carefully. "It's okay. It's me. It's Prowl."

An endless moment, and then Meister's weight vanishes from his chest and the dark mech curls up in the corner of the berth. There's no sign of the jagged blade.

Prowl gets up, sits down on the edge of the bed. "Are you unhurt?" Not all right, no. Meister is not all right, and they both know it.

"Ah'll live." The voice is subdued.

Not for the first time with this mech, Prowl is unsure of the way forward. His calculations are of no help; no action is deemed more or less likely to succeed than any other, and for most of them, his tactical computer unhelpfully tells him that it has too little information to go on.

Prowl is left to his own instincts, which is worrisome. Instinct is not what he is good at. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Nah." He sounds bitter. "Talkin' does no good." A black hand comes up, rubs at the coolant stains on dark cheeks. "Why are ya in here, anyway?"

"I heard you through the wall," Prowl replies quietly. "You were calling out."

"Sorry for wakin' ya," Meister says, and for the first time, he sounds sorry. "Ya should go back to recharge."

Prowl starts to stand, then changes his mind. "Tell me about it?"

Meister snorts. "Why do ya want ta know?"

He thinks about that for a moment. "I am not sure."

The chuckle is soft and almost inaudible. "As good a reason as any, Ah suppose." He uncurls from the tense ball of plating, settles down more easily on the bed. "Ah get bad fluxes. Sometimes. From before." He shakes his head, noticing for the first time the droplets of energon dripping from his damaged sensor horn.

"Here, let me see." Prowl moves closer on the berth, pulls out a small medikit from subspace.

"It's probably nothin'. Self-repair'll deal with it," Meister grunts, but he moves closer and tilts his head to give Prowl access.

That's progress.

"It's a crack at the base of a sensor horn," Prowl says, examining the damage. "It should heal up well on its own, but I don't want the energon flowing back into the circuits, so I'm going to put a gel on it."

Meister relaxes into the gently probing touch as Prowl rubs the nanite-rich gel onto the break. It feels exceedingly strange, to have the knowingly unstable murderer leaning into his hands like that, but it's a good sign.

"So… Bad fluxes?"

Meister chuckles grimly. "When ya've seen at much pit-spawned slag as Ah have, it's unavoidable."

"What was it this time?" He never lets his fingers still, even though the gel is long since applied. He's afraid to break the spell.

"Ah saw mah creators torn ta shreds." The voice is soft, muted, resigned. "Ah relive that, from time ta time. They were taken down by buncha marauders. Ah was barely inta mah first youngling frame."

"Meister, I'm so sorry," Prowl says gently, massaging the break in the dark helm.

"Not Meister."

"Excuse me?" His fingers freeze.

The mech lifts his dark head, looks Prowl in the optics. "Mah designation ain't Meister. That's just somethin' Ah've gone by. Mah real designation… The one mah creators gave me…" He pauses, looks away, chuckles softly. "Ah've never given anyone that before. Not since Ah was a younglin'." He looks up again, visor flickering. "Mah designation is Jazz."

"Hello, Jazz," Prowl replies softly. "I'm honored to make your acquaintance." He takes his hands from the other's helm, and stands back up. "You should get some more recharge. I will see you in the morning."

"G'night, Prowler."

The doorwinged mech leaves the same way he arrived. He hesitates just inside his own quarters, thinking. Then he goes back to his berth – but he leaves the door unlocked.

* * *

 _First freedom_

The skyline of Iacon is no less impressive this time, even though Prowl has seen it many times before. His companion, standing next to him and sporting a brand new paintjob, is smirking slightly.

"Something funny, Jazz?"

"Ah just never thought Ah'd come down this way again, Prowler," the smaller mech replies. "Least not as a free mech."

"You still consider yourself free, then?" Prowl asks, curious and hopeful. It's been a vorn, but he still remembers that Meister never would have considered himself free if he was serving someone.

"Ah'm free to make mah own choice," Jazz says. "Ain't that what ya said? Ah meet him, Ah listen ta him, but Ah'm free ta walk away?"

"You are," Prowl confirms.

"Good," the smaller black-and-white nods. Then he grins, a twinkle in the blue visor. "Though t'be honest, Ah'm probably not walkin' away. Stayin' seems like a better prospect."

"I'm glad," Prowl says. "We could use your skills."

Jazz just flashes him a smile. They've been coming more and more often, those smiles.

The transport lands, and after disembarking they both transform into their alt modes. Jazz sticks close to Prowl's rear, close enough that it would have made him uncomfortable just a few vorns ago. Somehow, though, it doesn't feel imposing now. It feels like backup.

The building they finally stop in front of is tall and typical for Iacon, with large glass panes and gleaming, polished metal along its front. Prowl pings the door for entrance and walk in with Jazz close to his heels.

"Welcome to the Autobot front building," the doorwinged mech murmurs as Jazz makes his way up beside him. "This is the official first stop, where Prime conducts meetings and interviews recruits. Don't let its appearance fool you – it's one of the most heavily defended buildings in the city."

"Ah believe ya," Jazz replies, tones equally quiet. Then he winks, one side of the visor dimming for an instant. "Behave, and there's no need for guards, right?"

Prowl has to chuckle at the reminder of the first time they'd walked together through a corridor like this. "We won't need any," he replies confidently, before stopping in front of a large, heavy double door. "We're here."

The meeting room isn't one of the biggest, for which Prowl is grateful. Jazz is taking most things in stride, but there's no saying if he would spook at the sight of Prime sitting at the head of the massive conference table in one of the grander rooms.

As it is, Jazz gravitates to the window, as he has done many times before. He doesn't even take notice of the other two inhabitants in the room.

"It is magnificent, isn't it," Prime says quietly, walking up to stand next to the much smaller mech. "I never tire of the view."

"It ain't the worst, that's for sure," Jazz grins, and Prowl realizes that the visored mech had missed nothing. "Thanks for receivin' me, Prime."

"It is my pleasure, Jazz," Optimus replies. "I have great hopes that we can work together for mutual benefit."

The negotiations take a few hours. Jazz agrees readily to be an Autobot, which makes Prowl more relieved than he would have expected, but there is still the manner of the information he sits on, who to tell and what to do with it.

And there is one more matter to conclude at the end of the interview.

"That's it but for one thing," Prime nods with a small smile. "Prowl, we have your new commission."

Jazz turns abruptly, and Prowl gets the impression that the smaller mech is staring at him. "New commission?"

"Yes," Prowl replies with a faint smile. "Up until now, I have been in charge of assimilating a valuable recruit into the Autobot ranks. Namely, you. Since you've joined, my task is done."

"As it stands right now, we need yer skills elsewhere," Ironhide drawls. "Smokescreen will handle assimilations from now on."

"He's a good choice," Prowl agrees. Smokescreen lacks the tactical planning skills, but his instincts are far superior.

"Well, what are ya goin' ta do, Prowler?" Jazz sounds somewhat – hesitant, which is a surprise.

Prowl looks at Optimus, waiting for the answer to the same question.

"We have an opening for head tactician," Optimus says with a slight smile. "The fighting is intensifying. Your skill set would be invaluable. You would be stationed here in Iacon with me and the command staff."

Prowl nods. "That sounds very agreeable, Prime. When do I start?"

"Tomorrow too soon?" Ironhide's grinning. "We have yer quarters all done up already, and yer office is just across the hall from mine."

"Tomorrow is acceptable." Prowl allows some of his excitement to show in his doorwings. "Thank you."

"And me?" Jazz chimes in with a grin. "Do Ah begin tomorrow too?"

"Yup," Ironhide confirms. "You report to me, first thing tomorrow, for evaluation. Fer now, go with Prowl. He's still in charge of you until then."

Jazz turns towards Prowl, and his grin is radiant. "Excellent. Ya get ta show me the Iacon nightlife!"

Prowl looks at him with dread.

* * *

 _First interest_

"Hiya, Prowler!"

Prowl puts his datapad down with a sigh. "Hello, Jazz. Is there something I can help you with?"

"Nah, Ah jus' came ta tell ya the good news!" The smaller black-and-white is grinning, visor twinkling merrily. He's sat down on one corner of Prowl's desk, as usual, fiddling with one datapad and making a mess of Prowl's carefully constructed filing system, as usual, and being infuriating, as usual.

Prowl often thinks that if it hadn't been for the damage Jazz could have caused them while running free as Meister, it might have been better if they had let him be. At least then work would get done on time around here.

"What good news, Jazz?" he asks neutrally.

"Prime's announced the crew for the _Ark_ expedition," Jazz grins. "And we're both on it." A white hand comes up, points at Prowl's chestplates. "You as second in command." The thumb points back towards Jazz. "And me as third."

"Well, congratulations," Prowl says, allowing his doorwings to move up to a more excited position. Even if he also feels something akin to foreboding when he considers being stuck on a spaceship with Jazz, noble quest though it is. "That is quite a promotion for you. Will you still be able to uphold your role as head of Special Operations?"

"Yeah, Prime okayed it, said Ah can pick mah own team," Jazz grins. The leg that's not on the ground is kicking merrily into the air. "So Ah figured we should celebrate."

"Celebrate? Jazz, I'm working." He indicates the stacks of datapads that had been placed systematically on the desk – until Jazz came in and created his usual chaos.

"Ah can see that. But ya know what they say – all work an' no fun…"

"… makes sure that the _Ark_ can depart on time," Prowl finishes smoothly. "No, Jazz."

"Aw, c'mon Prowler!" Jazz flops over on the desk dramatically, scattering datapads in all directions. "Ya can take a break at least! Have ya even refueled today?"

Prowl takes a moment to control himself. He can sort the datapads again later. Being angry with Jazz serves no purpose, it makes no impact on him. The smaller black-and-white just shakes it off and bounces right back.

"Fine," he sighs. "We'll refuel. But that's it. Prime needs these datapads today."

"Sure thing, Prowler," Jazz grins.

"My name is Prowl."

"Ah know that."

Walking down the hallway towards the rec room, Prowl does his best to tune out his smaller and more irritating companion without actually seeming to. Jazz is talking away, seeming insistent to fill every moment with words.

"…Ah though Ah'd take Bumblebee, ya know? He's turnin' out to be more'n decent. And Mirage, o' course, 'Raj has ta come. Ironhide says he's bringin' the twins, Prime's okayed it though Ratchet's not too happy."

Hmm. Maybe listening would pay off. It would certainly be beneficial to know which mechs he could enter into his calculations. "Mirage is an asset," Prowl muses, "if he can get along."

Jazz snorts. "If Cliffjumper can learn ta get along, 'Raj can learn to get along. It ain't that hard."

"True," Prowl agrees wryly. "I manage to get along with you."

Jazz grins at him. "Pit, mech, everyone gets along wi' me. An' you got more practice than most. Anyway, both Ratch an' Wheeljack are comin', and Perceptor, an' Ah'm workin' on Prime to get him ta bring Blaster."

"His skills would be an asset," Prowl agrees as they enter the rec room, which, thankfully, is deserted. He prefers to refuel in relative peace and quiet – though he won't get that with his current companion, he's sure. "I'd support that decision. What more do you know of the roster, Jazz?"

The smaller mech shoots him a strange grin. "See, Ah knew it'd be beneficial for ya to hang out wi' me. Ah can make it worth your while, Prowler, if ya jus' gimme the chance."

There is a new expression on his face. Jazz almost looks… hopeful?

Strange.

Prowl calculates a 94.6 percent chance that Jazz has a hidden agenda he hasn't told him about. He also figures it's a 82.6 chance that it's benign, and a 7.2 percent chance that it'll end in utter disaster.

They collect a cube each, and sit down at the table. Jazz talks on about the mission, the roster and the interdependence of the crew, and Prowl suddenly finds himself listening more eagerly to Jazz than he's done since the other became an Autobot. He doesn't even notice when the rec room fills up with mechs and then empties again.

They sit there talking well past the end of his shift.

* * *

 _First foundations_

The Ark is well-built, solid, if a bit – orange. Not that that matters, Prowl thinks, as long as it flies well, which will be demonstrated soon. They're about a joor away from leaving Cybertron, and he's standing at the Prime's side for the shift change.

"Ironhide, Bumblebee, you have the _Ark_ ," Optimus says. The two mechs before them salute before walking to their stations. "Come, Prowl, let us refuel."

Prowl is not too surprised when Jazz falls into step next to them. It's been the norm of his existence since they moved into the ship to begin familiarizing themselves with the ship and preparing for departure – he leaves the bridge, and there's Jazz. No matter if the saboteur was actually elsewhere just before.

Prowl calculates a 90.3 chance that Jazz is purposely waiting for him, though he can't fathom why.

"Evenin', Prime, Prowl," Jazz greets them. "How was your shift?"

"Uneventful," Prime replies, smiling at the visored mech. "And I hope it will stay that way. How was yours?"

"All good," Jazz grins. "Ah think we're on track. You headin' for the rec room?"

"Indeed," Prime agrees. "We have time for a cube and a quick break before we're ready to leave the planet." Then he frowns slightly, and Prowl can see the signs indicating a private comm. Then Optimus sighs. "Or not. My friends, please continue without me. I'm needed in Engineering."

Jazz watches Optimus leave, and then turns his bright smile on Prowl. "Looks like it's just you an' me, Prowler."

"So it seems," Prowl agrees, wondering why the prospect makes him wary. Not that he lets Jazz see that, though he suspects the saboteur knows. Jazz is one of the most perceptive mechs Prowl has ever met.

They enter the brand-new rec room and Jazz fetches them both a cube, then drops down into a chair opposite Prowl. "Here ya go, Prowler."

Prowl accepts, looks into the liquid as he swirls it around in the cube. He predicts a 46 percent chance that Jazz will tell him the truth if he asks. But he knows for sure it will drive him to distraction if he doesn't try. "Jazz," he says slowly, not looking at the other mech, "I have a question for you, and I'd like a truthful response. Please."

Jazz leans back, looking more than a little apprehensive. "O-kay? Ya know ya can ask me most anythin', mech."

"I know," Prowl replies, allowing himself a small smile. "I can ask anything, and you will reply what you wish to."

"That's it exactly," Jazz grins. "So what's on your mind?"

Prowl hesitates. There will be no way back from this. "Jazz… Why do you wait for me every day?"

Whatever Jazz was expecting, that doesn't seem to have been it. His optics reset, and he frowns slightly.

Suddenly, Prowl worries that he's somehow offended the mech in front of him, something which he hasn't managed to do since he called Jazz a Decepticon when they first met.

And when Jazz hesitates, starts drawing meaningless half-glyphs on the table, that's when Prowl becomes _really_ nervous.

"Prowl, how long have we known each other?" Jazz asks at last, still looking away.

"Since I met Meister," Prowl replies slowly, "it's been vorns, Jazz. I've known you longer than I'd lived before we met."

"At least half mah life, maybe more," Jazz agrees. "You're mah friend, Prowl. You're the first mech Ah've trusted since Ah was… Ah don't know, since Ah was a younglin', Ah guess." He looks up then, tentative, hesitant, almost worried. "Is it so strange that Ah want to refuel with a friend?"

"No, of course not," Prowl says, realizing he'll say almost anything to get that look off of Jazz's face, illogical though it is. "I enjoy spending my free time with you, I do." And he does, he realizes. Now when did that happen? It's not like they've socialized all that much since Jazz joined the Autobots. They have vastly different interests, and Prowl has been content with his own.

Still, when he thinks back… Jazz always stops by his office, each shift without fail, and he's always in the rec room when Prowl is. More often than not, lately, Jazz has been the one to drag him there.

Prowl suddenly realizes he spends more time in the company of the saboteur than he does with anyone else. Not only that, but he suspects the reverse is true as well – and the implications of that are staggering, because unlike him, Jazz is a very social mech.

Prowl's tactical computer is suddenly running a whole new set of scenarios, trying to reach a conclusion.

His words serve to soothe the other black-and-white, though. And the smile on Jazz's face… It heats Prowl up from his spark chamber outwards, until he feels lighter than he has for an age. He can't help but return it.

"Ah'm glad, Prowler," Jazz replies quietly, still with that smile. "Ah do too."

They sit there, together, sipping from their cubes, not saying much, trading small smiles. Prowl feels like he's on the edge of something he hasn't experienced before, like Jazz has pulled him into the strange and chaotic way he sees the world. It's new, surreal, not entirely unwelcome.

After an age and a half, Prowl downs the rest of his cube and disperses it. "We should go," he murmurs. "We're supposed to be on the bridge again in a breem or so for departure."

"Sure thing, Prowler," Jazz agrees, still softly, still smiling. "Let's go."

* * *

 _First dependence_

"What is it?"

"An asteroid."

"There's another one!"

"They're going to collide!"

Prowl works the controls furiously, trying in vain to plot a course through the debris field. It's not working. From the corner of his optic, he can see Jazz flying through the air as the saboteur is thrown from his seat by the impact. Jazz manages to turn his frame, though, crashing into the bulkhead feet first and sliding to the floor easily before moving to another station and helping monitor the ship's systems.

And then they've got worse things to worry about. Much worse things. "Viewtrex report," Prowl calls. "We _are_ being followed!"

"Decepticons!" Prime sounds furious, as well he should be. Prowl's not that amused himself.

"They've made a magnetic junction!" Jazz snarls, trying and failing to get the ship's systems to obey. "I can't shake them!"

Prowl grimaces as his readings give him the same information. This is not turning into a good shift. They've barely escaped Cybertron's gravity well, and already there are Decepticons on their tail!

*Prowler?*

He's surprised at the private comm, but he doesn't show it. "Yes, Jazz?"

"Wanna go on a date wi' me when we get back ta Cybertron? Or before, if we can find somewhere that serves some decent high-grade?*

Prowl glances over, but Jazz appears engrossed in his work, fingers moving quickly over the console.

*I would love to, Jazz,* he comms back, looking down at his own monitor, a strange feeling in his tanks that have nothing to do with the situation they're in.

And then a new light starts blinking on his console. Hull breach.

"They're coming aboard!"

Jazz moves away from his console and readies his hand gun, and he's not the only one.

"Prepare for battle!" Optimus orders.

Prowl readies his own weapon. He glances at Jazz, finds the saboteur looking at him. *We will get out of this, Jazz.*

*Oh, Ah know,* Jazz replies, and the smile that flits across his face is so fleeting that Prowl almost wonders if he's imagined it. *Ah've gotten out o' worse. B'sides, you've got mah back.*

There is no doubt in Jazz's tone. None at all. And Prowl feels his confidence grow at the saboteur's words. *Always,* he promises.

"Good," Jazz replies, out loud this time, and now the grin is very visible and does not bode well for the boarding Decepticons. "Let's go kick some 'Con aft."

* * *

 _First togetherness_

Prowl walks in the direction Jazz had told him to go, following the small signs he left behind and weaving through the empty Ark hallways like a shadow. Most of the other mechs are in recharge, and Ops is in Sideswipe's somewhat capable hands. Considering they just sent Megatron packing with most of his fusion cannon in fragments, Prowl figures they're as safe as they can be.

Which lets him chase down the saboteur.

Jazz's tracks lead out through the blast doors. Prowl pauses for a moment outside, drinking in the calm and quiet of the night. This planet, dusty and smelly and gritty as it is, is beautiful.

He turns, walks up the path on the side of the mountain. He's enjoying their game – there's no chance that he can come upon Jazz undetected, but he still pulls his plating close to his body and mutes the glow of his optics, hiding for just a little while longer. A smile plays across his mouthplates.

When he gets to the plateau near the top, Jazz is there waiting for him. Looking straight at him, too, with a small, secretive smile on his face.

"Hey, Prowler," he purrs softly, leaning back. "Ya found me."

"I did," Prowl replies, walking over and kneeling in front of the saboteur. "Want to tell me what this is about?"

"Well, this mudball planet ain't got any high-grade," Jazz muses, "and the nightlife's not exactly up to mah standards. But ya can't fault the view." He throws out his arm in a sweeping arch, indicating the vista in front of them. "Wanna share it wi' me?"

Prowl smiles, sitting down next to the saboteur. "Definitely."

They sit together in silence for a while. Prowl pretends to look at the view, but he finds himself constantly glancing to his left, taking in Jazz's profile, the way the starlight reflects on his plating, the elegant, relaxed way he holds himself.

Jazz is beautiful. And Prowl can't understand why he hasn't seen it before.

The third-in-command catches him looking and winks. "Enjoyin' our date?"

"Immensely," Prowl replies truthfully, still absorbing the fact that he's attracted to the mech beside him. "Thank you for this."

Jazz smiles, a gentle expression very different from his usual bravado. "Good."

Then, suddenly, Prowl finds himself with arms full of purring Porsche.

"Jazz," he breathes, letting his hands caress the smooth plating. "What is this?"

"This is me bein' fed up with waitin', Prowler," Jazz whispers back, his clever dark fingers running up Prowl's central transformation seam. "Ah've been bidin' mah time for aeons. An' now that Ah know that ya'd be willin' to entertain the idea of you an' me… Well, Ah'm not gonna wait for the 'Cons ta take ya away from me."

Prowl stills, looking into that blue visor, imagining he can see the optics underneath. "I have been blind, haven't I," he muses, lifting a hand and letting one finger run down Jazz's cheek. "How did I not see what I had in front of me all this time?"

And Jazz is trembling, he notices, his plating vibrating against Prowl's, his visor darkening slowly towards sapphire. Prowl cups the other's neck, pulls him close until they're forehead to forehead. "You're beautiful," he murmurs.

Jazz moans, and then his mouth plates are pressing against Prowl's.

And time stops. The world fades away. Prowl isn't aware of anything but Jazz, of the warm plating against his hands, the fingers moving over his shoulders and doorwings, the heat of Jazz's chest pressing against his own. His mouth opens, permitting Jazz to deepen the kiss, and in the next momen they're on the ground, Jazz lying beneath him, moaning and pulling Prowl towards him eagerly.

Eager mouths are exploring sensor horns and doorwings, black and white fingers dipping into transformation seams and caressing sensitive hinges, and Jazz pulls Prowl close enough that every inch of their plating is touching. They rock together, cables suddenly connected to ports, and the sensations of pleasure that Jazz is sending through the connection is enough to have Prowl arching his back and keening softly. He kisses his saboteur again hungrily, glossa running over Jazz's lower mouth plate, Jazz moaning into his mouth. And when Jazz crests with charge running rampant through his systems, Prowl follows suit, his overload strong enough to leave him panting and trembling, barely able to support his weight on arms placed on either side of Jazz's head.

Jazz disconnects them with shaky fingers, spooling their cables back up and closing their interface panels, and Prowl lets himself roll off to lie on the ground next to him. He reaches out and pulls the saboteur into his arms, curling around the smaller frame protectively.

Jazz nuzzles at Prowl's arms encircling his torso and cradling his helm, and Prowl tightens his grip somewhat, mouthing at the back of his lover's neck cables. "You are amazing."

"That's mah line, Prowler," Jazz replies, sounding content and more than half in recharge.

Prowl chuckles. "Let's get you inside. You can't recharge out here on the mountain."

"Can't move," Jazz sighs, smiling and snuggling up against the tactician. "Too low on energy."

"My silly Jazz," Prowl murmurs, kissing a dark helm. "I'll carry you." He sits up, picking up the smaller mech and relishing in the way Jazz leans against him.

The way back down is precarious in the dark, and he has to watch his footing, but he manages. The Ark is as dark and still as it was, though he's reminded fairly soon that someone's always watching.

*Prowl, sir? Something wrong with Jazz?*

*He's fine, Sideswipe, just fell into recharge on the mountain.*

There's a distinct undertone of mirth in Sideswipe's voice. *It's about slagging time, sir. That's been a long time coming. Sideswipe out.*

Somehow, Prowl gets the feeling that the twin is not merely talking about Jazz's recharge habits.

He carries the recharging mech back towards the officer's quarters, pausing momentarily outside Jazz's door. The right thing to do would probably be to override the door using his command code, but the way Jazz is clinging to him makes the right thing to do very untempting. Besides, he calculates a 98.2 chance that Jazz was telling the truth tonight and will not at all be unhappy if he doesn't wake up alone…

So, smiling slightly, he walks past Jazz's door and over to his own.

He may never let his saboteur go again.

* * *

 _Now..._

Isobel giggles. "So, wait, wait. You tried flirting with him for how long?"

"Well over a thousand of your years, sweetspark," Jazz grins. "He was so oblivious."

"I was," Prowl confirms, smiling up at his mate. "But I do believe I made up for it when I finally caught on." He reaches up, tugs at Jazz's hand until the saboteur drops down next to him on the sofa.

"That ya did," Jazz agrees, leaning up against Prowl's shoulder.

Isobel cants her head and smiles, the dimples in her cheek showing. "So when did you actually fall for him?"

Jazz looks down at where his fingers are intertwined with Prowl's. "Ah knew Ah wanted t' be with him from the moment he woke me up from mah bad recharge flux."

"That early?" Prowl murmurs. He hadn't known Jazz had made up his mind back then already.

"Ah woke up and felt safe," Jazz says, tilting his head and looking up. "So, Ah knew. And every moment after that jus' reinforced mah belief that you were the one for me."

Prowl leans down, kiss the black helm. "I love you, Jazz."

"You two are so sweet, I'm getting cavities here," Isobel comments, standing up. "I have to go, Bumblebee's waiting for me." She smiles at them, revealing those dimples again. "Thanks for telling me. I'm honored that you would."

"Of course," Prowl replies, smiling back. "You're family, Isobel."

"We'll see ya around, sweetspark," Jazz adds, using his favored term for the human femme who's wormed her way into his spark so easily. "Say hi ta Bee for us."

"You got it," the little human replies, waving cheerily at them before walking out the door.

No sooner is she gone before Jazz is on Prowl's lap, leaning up against his chest, mouth hovering just inches away from Prowl's own.

"Now, mate o' mine," he whispers, a sly twinkle in his visor, "what do ya say we try ta recreate that first night on the mountain?"

Prowl is instantly on fire, arms wrapping his saboteur up and pulling him close. "I thought you would never ask." And then he loses himself in his mate again, just like the first time, and he knows it won't be the last.


	5. Brother mine

_A/N: WARNING for this one: smut. Smut. And then more smut. And twincest._

 _This is a companion fic to chapter 28 of "You had me at holoform", but it can easily stand alone. It's my first time writing M/M, plug'n'play and spark merging, so let me know how I did, would you?_

* * *

Brother mine

* * *

The door opens, and Sideswipe lifts his head.

"Hey. You're out."

Sunstreaker just nods. His finish is dull, dusty. "Hey."

Sideswipe climbs off the berth, walks over to his brother slowly. Takes his hand. "I missed you, bro."

Sunstreaker grunts. Thankfully, Sideswipe is fluent in 'Sunstreaker', and this particular sound means 'missed you too, you glitch'.

So Sideswipe kisses him. That's what you do, right?

It doesn't take much more than that to light them up. It never has.

"Berth," Sunstreaker moans, pressing against his brother, fingers caressing sensor horns and delving into sensitive transformation seams.

"Nuh-uh, you're too dusty," Sideswipe protests breathily. "I'd say wash racks, but I don't think I can wait that long." He drags his denta down Sunstreaker's golden head fin, drawing out a moan. "Holoform?"

"Holoform," Sunstreaker agrees, tilting his head to give Sideswipe better access to his neck. "Your hood."

"Love you," Sideswipe groans, letting his fingers dance across Sunstreaker's port covers before stepping back. They transform in sync, and Sideswipe's hands are back on Sunstreaker's smooth skin before his twin is even fully solid.

He's not sure at this point what he actually prefers. The charge, mind-to-mind contact and hot touches of their root mode, or the damp, sticky, soft physical heat of the holoform. He presses his teeth into Sunstreaker's shoulder in little nibbles, angry red marks marring the pale holoform skin.

Sunstreaker's beautiful, arching into the bite and moaning. He pushes Sideswipe backwards until Sides is lying back against his own hood. The strange double sensation of holoform and plating is distracting at first, but he embraces it.

"Sunny," he gasps, as his twin's mouth moves down his throat, his tongue tasting its way to Sides' chest.

"Love you," Sunstreaker growls, and the wave of lust and adoration shot over the bond almost overloads Sideswipe then and there.

He whines, letting the rest of his clothing disappear and lifting his legs to catch Sunny's hips. "Want you," he mewls, hips lifting against his brother, his throbbing hot human flesh aching for attention.

Sunstreaker doesn't disappoint. With a possessive snarl and a sharp hold of Sideswipe's hips, he slams home in one easy, practised motion. Sideswipe's holoform flesh, programmed to fit his brother perfectly, clenches around Sunstreaker's girth.

"Oooooh yes," Sideswipe breathes, "more, please, Sunny –"

"Mine," Sunstreaker purrs, repeating the motion.

Sideswipe keens. "Yours," he agrees, drowning in his brother. "Yours, oh Primus, Sunny!"

Sunstreaker is relentless, hands and lips roaming over Sideswipe's holomatter skin, pace never faltering. Sideswipe's lips are always moving, voicing a never-ending stream of curses and praise and ohPrimusohplease _there_ s. As Sunstreaker bites down hard on his neck, marking Sideswipe as his, Sideswipe comes with a howl, ejaculating all over both of their stomachs. The noise and the smell and the tight, slick heat pushes Sunstreaker over, and he roars his completion into Sideswipe's neck.

"Sunny," Sideswipe breathes after a few minutes of catching his breath. "Primus, Sunny, I've missed you."

Sunstreaker lifts his head, looks into his eyes. Then their lips meet again, greedily, possessively, and Sideswipe can feel his holoform responding as Sunstreaker deepens the kiss. He realizes then that Sunstreaker never pulled out – he's still buried to the hilt in Sideswipe's clenching heat, and Primus, it feels amazing.

Sideswipe doesn't protest when his brother begins moving again, hips thrusting gently and tongue exploring Sideswipe's mouth. He lifts his hands up, touching, caressing, and then Sunstreaker's moaning into his mouth, a deep, wanton sound that makes Sides shiver. Sunstreaker encourages Sideswipe's arms to encircle his neck, and taking hold of his brother's hips lifts him up in one smooth motion.

"Want you over me," he whispers, and Sideswipe keens, part in response to the words and part because Sunny's hardened fully inside him and oh, this position, Sunny goes _deep_ , thrusting slightly with each step.

They collapse on the edge of the soft berth covers in a sweaty mess, connected to each other by mouths and hips. The bedding is thick, plush, and Sunstreaker rolls them until he's lying on his back. Sideswipe breaks the kiss again and sits up, still impaled on his brother.

"Sunnyyyyy," he moans, feeling that hot length inside him, trembling as he leans back.

"So hot," Sunny croons, leaning up on his elbows and watching him with a smirk. "So fragging hot, Sides."

Fingers move on him then, stroking from his knees up to his hips, skirting his hot shaft and tracing taut stomach muscles, nails gliding over his skin, up to circle sensitive nipples. Sideswipe is panting, head thrown back, rocking gently on top of his brother.

"Love you, Sideswipe," Sunstreaker breathes. "Now move, fragger."

Sideswipe has to grin at that, and he catches Sunstreaker's hands in his own, using them as unneeded support. "So impatient," he murmurs, smirking down at his gorgeous brother.

"Speak for yourself," Sunstreaker growls, and Sideswipe leans in to kiss him by way of apology. Having Sunny in the brig for eight days had been hard on both of them.

Sunny turns his head into the kiss, which means he's forgiven, and he sends a burst of love and affection over the bond as he rocks faster on Sunstreaker's shaft. The golden twin grunts, then, breaking the kiss to bite at Sideswipe's neck again, pulling his hands free and placing them on Sideswipe's hips, thumbs caressing the sensitive skin across his pelvis. Sideswipe gasps and collapses against his brother.

Then he really begins moving.

"So good, Sunny, so fragging gorgeous," he moans, hands clenching in Sunstreaker's dark hair, and when Sunstreaker's impatience takes over and he picks Sideswipe up physically to slam him down, going oh so deep and making Sideswipe arch and keen, Sideswipe lets him take control.

The pace hastens, their breathing speeds up, and Sideswipe has never seen anything quite so hot in his life as Sunstreaker's cloudy eyes half-hidden under sweat-damp hair.

"Mine," Sunstreaker growls again, pushing Sideswipe down hard, and Sideswipe comes for the second time, tipped over by the sheer look of lust in his brother's gaze. Sunstreaker follows almost instantly; the golden twin comes loudly, intensely, thrusting a few times more into Sideswipe and _roaring_.

Sideswipe collapses against Sunstreaker's hot, sweaty chest, clinging to him. After a moment, Sunstreaker huffs, putting his arms around him and twisting until they're side by side, face to face.

Post-interface Sunstreaker cuddles. They're one of Sideswipe's absolute favorite things – only beaten by interfacing with Sunstreaker. Sideswipe grins, leaning his forehead against his brother's.

And Sunstreaker tolerates it. Sideswipe knows he's not imagining the subtle pressure that means Sunstreaker's leaning back.

For a moment, neither of them say anything. Sides relishes in the warmth and comfort that is his brother.

Then Sunstreaker smirks. "Too dusty, huh?"

Sideswipe grins. "Yeah. You're covered in brig dust, bro."

"Can't have that." Sunstreaker's blue eyes glint, and Sideswipe can feel his brother's amusement over the bond. He tries to hold on for a moment, but Sunstreaker pulls away gently but firmly. "I'm going to hit the wash racks."

The golden twin stands, then, stretching and turning slightly, and Sideswipe knows he's being treated to a rare sight. Sunny's showing off. And Sides doesn't mind. Not even when the dark-haired sexy holoform fades away, and Sunstreaker transforms to give him the same show in root mode. Sideswipe grins as he feels this body responding again, despite the fact that right now they're not technically compatible.

Stretch done, Sunstreaker turns and heads for the wash rack door. He turns at the last minute, shooting Sideswipe a smirk. "You coming?"

Sideswipe grins. Frag yeah, he was coming. He lets the holoform fade away and stands to follow his brother.

* * *

Sunstreaker's golden plating looks good wet, too. Sideswipe presses against him, taking care not to push hard enough to mar the perfect finish. That is, until Sunstreaker pulls him close with a snarl, grinding against him, mouth moving on his neck.

Okay. Sideswipe was totally up for that.

Black fingers moves on gold and silver plating, dragging across cabling, dipping in between plating to tease at hot protoform. Sideswipe's mouth goes after Sunstreaker's head fin again, with predatory intent, and his brother purrs.

Sideswipe is so fragging crazy about his brother, it's not even funny. And as talented, perfect fingers tease at the gap between his pelvis and leg plating, Sideswipe abandons the head fin to latch onto Sunstreaker's main neck cable, mouthing and licking.

"Berth," Sunstreaker moans, for the second time tonight, and this time Sideswipe can't find it in him to object. Not with those fingers pulling at his cabling. He merely lets Sunstreaker pull him along, dry them both quickly, and then entice him back to berth. It's not hard.

When Sunstreaker moves in front of him, showing off the shine, the strength, the utter perfection that is his twin, Sideswipe follows.

They crash down on the berth proper this time, and Sideswipe pulls Sunstreaker close. "Want you," he purrs, letting his fingers trace Sunstreaker's beautiful frame.

Sunstreaker just growls. He turns with them, pulling loose, leans down to let his glossa trace down Sideswipe's central transformation seam.

"Ah, frag, yes," Sideswipe hisses. "Frag, Sunny, yes, yesyesye- PRIMUS!"

Sunstreaker smirks, pulls back slightly from the port cover he's teased loose. "Want your cables."

Like Sideswipe was going to argue with that. "Want yours." Sunstreaker smiles at that, a tiny lift to the corners of his mouth, and Sideswipe melts. "Want you _now_."

"Impatient," Sunstreaker says, obviously enjoying turning the tables on his brother.

"Well, yeah," Sideswipe replies cheekily. "I'm waiting for _you_. Anyone would be impatient to get some of that."

"I'm not for just anyone," Sunstreaker pouts, and Sideswipe purrs at him, pushing his lust and love over the bond.

"Oh, I know. You're perfect, Sunny. So slagging hot, I can't even say it."

Sunstreaker looks at him then, and Sideswipe knows he'll do anything for that look to be aimed at him again. And he knows he's the only one it'll be aimed at.

Sunstreaker connects their cables, and Sideswipe reels at the first tentative datapacket. Sunny feels strong and satisfied in the bond, but he clearly still needs reassurance.

The packet Sideswipe sends back is stronger, and he follows it with a heady pulse of _love/affection/want/mine_ across the bond.

Sunstreaker _snarls_ , hands tightening on Sideswipe's frame possessively, mouth pressing against Sideswipe's, and this time the datapacket comes fast, strong, and Sides is almost undone already.

Back and forth, back and forth, and when sparks begin jumping from Sunstreaker's frame to his own, Sideswipe pauses.

"Sparks," he gasps against his brother's mouth. "Please Sunny, I want your spark –"

" _Yes_ ," Sunstreaker breathes, leaning back just enough that Sideswipe can see his chest plates cracking open. "Sides, yes, so good –"

Sideswipe opens his own chest plates, and then his brother collapses into him, mouths and chests meeting.

And Sideswipe ceases to exist. Sunstreaker ceases to exist. There's just one, one full spark, both of them flowing seamlessly into each other, no borders or distance between them anymore.

The part that is Sideswipe can feel his other half's _longing/loneliness/self-disgust/failure_ , the dark sensations that sometimes threatens to tear Sunstreaker apart. In return, the Sunstreaker half revels in the _love/adoration/faith/trust_ that is offered, letting it swamp their shared spark, letting it pull the two halves closer together until there's nothing else there, just the two of them. Just the one of them.

 _I love you_ , they think together. _Mine/love/mine/family/trust/love_.

It seems endless, but it's not. As they slowly begin to peal apart, spark splitting down a familiar line to form two entities again, Sideswipe gasps and holds onto his brother. He feels the loss deeply, the him/not-him that is Sunstreaker fading away slightly, and it makes him hold on tight to the yellow plating just as his brother holds on tight to him.

And then the pulsing of energy back and forth becomes too much, and still reeling from the merge Sideswipe overloads hard, hard enough to pull his brother with him, and with plating still crackling and chest plates still half unlocked he falls offline.

* * *

He onlines slowly, feeling warm, safe, loved. Without onlining his optics he know that his brother is close.

*Sunny?*

The clear presence that is Sunstreaker responds with amusement and familiar exasperation. No trace of the _lost/hurt/alone_ that had been there the last couple of days. *Don't call me that.*

Sideswipe smiles, nuzzles into the warm plating he can now feel next to him. Strong arms curl around his shoulders, pulling him closer. *Whatever you say, sunshine of mine.*

"You're such a glitch." Sunstreaker sighs, a put-upon and exaggerated sound, and Sideswipe chuckles.

"Maybe," Sideswipe replies softly, pressing even closer to his brother. "But I'm your glitch. And you love me for it."

Sunstreaker huffs, but he doesn't deny it. And Sideswipe's almost swept away by the wave of _love/trust/adoration_ that comes over the bond.

*Yeah,* he replies. *Love you too, bro.*


	6. Touching bases

_A/N; This is the first of two ficlets resulting from the 200 reviews poll! This one is for Eject/Laserbeak. Hope you like!_

* * *

Eject had known who Laserbeak was, of course. They all did – it was part of their job to know the players of the rival team, after all. And Laserbeak was a very good player.

What he hadn't known, though, was that she was – well, a she. Or that when she was clean and polished, her wing plating was almost iridescent. And he certainly hadn't known how impossibly tiny and fragile she could feel when she crawled into his lap.

He'd thought he hated her until that moment. Then he got really confused.

Of course, it hadn't stopped there.

Because Laserbeak was _funny_. She was caring, and clever, and all those things Eject hadn't really been sure that Decepticons could be – all those things he enjoyed in his friends, in mechs of his own faction. And the more time he spent with her - and he did spend time with her, if only to keep her from slipping into a depression - the more trouble he had seeing the faction instead of the cassette.

Suddenly, Laserbeak was a friend. Strangely enough. A friend who was soft, and affectionate, and looked at him with that expression that he'd never had directed at him before.

And then they'd moved bases.

Laserbeak hadn't liked the trip. She'd been in a crate of sorts, with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe guarding her, and it had been cramped and uncomfortable and nasty. The new base was no better, because now she was in a cell, no longer able to fly or even stretch her wings.

He'd only managed to go to see her once after the move. She hadn't been happy and he hadn't been allowed inside the cell. They'd had to settle for touching through the bars – his hands on her wings, stroking and massaging, and her head resting against his shoulder.

Then, a few days later, she was released. And Eject had expected that that was that.

He hadn't expected to actually _miss_ her.

And then Isobel had gotten kidnapped, and all sorts of slag had hit the fan. Eject had been as worried as everybody else – he may not have been as close to her as some of the others, but he _liked_ the human, slaggit, and he would do anything to get her back.

Not that things improved that much when they did get her back.

* * *

The entire Autobot camp is full of righteous fury. Eject is madder than he can remember ever having been before, because the perpetrators are like him – different, yeah, and Decepticons, sure, but cassettes, mechlings even, not that different from himself and Rewind.

Soundwave had done this.

And thinking of Soundwave usually makes him think of Laserbeak.

That's part of why he's so mad. He can't reconcile the image he has of Laserbeak, of warm, smooth plating and a trembling, scared frame in his arms, with the image he has of the big, navy carrier calmly and coolly applying the shock probe to a defenseless human.

How is it possible he can miss one and hate the other? When Laserbeak and Soundwave are as closely bound together as he and Blaster are?

It makes no sense.

And it keeps him up at nights.

"Dammit, bro, stop tossing and turning," Rewind mutters, and Eject takes a pede to the shin. Not that it hurts much, he did worse to himself when Blaster tried to teach them to tap dance, but still. "Lie still, fraggit. Recharge."

"Can't," Eject replies, twisting to lie on his back. "'m too mad."

"Then get out and walk it off," Ramhorn grumbles. "You're a nuisance in here. Some of us have shifts in the morning."

Eject does, too. Not that knowing that lets him recharge any faster.

Still, he gets out of their shared berth and makes his way outside, sneaking past Blaster's room as quiet as he knows how. Arcee's in there, he knows that, and Bluestreak, too. The night before it had been Bumblebee, and Blaster had been almost happy again in the morning.

Eject didn't pretend to understand. But he didn't mind much, either. They were all pleasant enough. And Blaster was happy, that was the most important thing.

At least he had been happy before all this slag began.

The darkness outside is peaceful, as least on the surface. Eject has learned well enough by now that that doesn't necessarily mean anything. Still, he offers a wave to Wheeljack, heading back to his quarters, and another one for Trailbreaker who's headed out on patrol.

It's peaceful enough, this night. It's enough to settle his processor somewhat.

He ambles past the hangar that passes for a rec room, past the Aerialbots' hangar, until he gets to the runway that borders on the salt flats. He's not allowed too much further out that way, but there's a shed of sorts just on the other side of the runway that's been his refuge before. It's barely more than three walls and a roof with a bench inside, and Eject doesn't really know what it's for, but it reminds him of a baseball dugout, so he likes it. And he can hide in there from the full-sized bots if he needs to. It's a good spot to sit and think for a while.

Except tonight it's already occupied.

Granted, she's on the roof instead of the bench inside. But she's still there, looking at him, waiting.

It takes him a few moments to swallow his surprise. Then he takes another few hesitant steps towards her.

"Hey, Laserbeak."

*Hello, Eject.* She sounds tentative, almost nervous.

He walks underneath where she's sitting to drop down on the bench. It's nice being on a planet where everything is so conveniently cassette-sized.

Laserbeak leaps from the ceiling, gliding around to land on the ground in front of him. *Are you mad at me?*

He thinks about that for a moment. "Should I be?"

*I wouldn't blame you if you were,* she says softly.

Eject watches her. She's not changed. And it's surprising to him how much he just wants her to cuddle up in his arms as she has before.

"No," he sighs, looking away from her. "No, I'm not mad at you. I'm really fragged off at your carrier, though."

Laserbeak walks hesitantly closer, until she's right in front of him. *For what it's worth, I'm sorry.*

"Yeah." She's close enough that he has to turn his head to look away from her, so he doesn't try. It's not like she's hard on the optics, anyway. "Did you know? What he was doing?"

*No,* she replies, shuffling even a bit closer. *Soundwave kept me in our quarters, and both he and my brothers locked the bond down. I knew he was doing something, but I just assumed it was something secret he was working on for Lord Megatron. It's happened before."

Eject smiles faintly under his mask at that. He lifts a hand towards Laserbeak, and she leans into it gratefully. "Well, that's something at least. It's bad enough he's your carrier, I'm glad you're not connected to the whole thing any more than that."

It's nice, he thinks, having her near him again. He enjoys the feel of her plating under his hand. So it's only natural to tug slightly at her, put his fingers on the back of her neck, until she's nuzzling against his shoulder and his hands can stroke down her wings.

"Much as I'm happy to see you," he says, "I'm not sure you should have come. I don't think you're safe here anymore. The Autobots really hate your carrier at this point, and they might let it spill over on you."

*Do you hate my carrier?* The question is hesitant. She doesn't pull away, though, which is nice.

"I do," Eject replies, surprised by the vehemence in his own voice. He can't remember ever having been this slagged off at anyone before. "I hate him, and I hate Rumble and Frenzy, and if they were here right now I'd probably raise the alarm on them instantly. And then I'm not sure we'd leave them alive."

Laserbeak is quiet for a moment, and then she does pull back. Those sharp optics meet his.

*You do realize that Soundwave didn't have a choice.*

Eject gapes at her. "Like pit! He could have chosen to not hurt Isobel, he could have left her alone!"

*No, he couldn't!* Laserbeak snaps, flaring her plating angrily. *There was no other option!*

Eject's suddenly on his feet. He can't remember standing up, or deciding to clench his fists, or even to shout at her, but he's still doing so. "Frag that! She's an innocent human! Pit, she doesn't even know anything useful! There was no reason to hurt her!"

*He had to!* Laserbeak shoots back, and she sounds furious as well. *He had to, because he owed her a debt because of me, and he knew what would happen if he didn't intervene. For Primus' sake, she was in Swindle's custody! Vortex's gestaltmate! Do you know what would have happened if Vortex got hold of her? Do you know how he uses his holoform? He's sick!* Delicate wing platelets ruffle again, and Laserbeak turns away. *Soundwave didn't want to, he told me that! He tried to make it as easy on her as he could, but he had to make it look real! And when Lord Megatron started asking, he had to produce results! He couldn't even keep her fed, because he couldn't risk any one of us getting caught with food for her! It killed him a little inside every time she screamed, every time she cried, and he still had to keep the charades up for our Lord and Master! Because _Lord Megatron_ ,* and this time the name is almost a sneer, *would have taken it out of our plating, mine or one of my siblings', if he hadn't!* She turns then, stares at him. *You don't understand, and how can you? The Autobots are soft! There's room here for caring, and friendship, and love, and family, and everything else Lord Megatron has named a weakness! There's room for taking care of those who need it. Not so in the Decepticons.* She looks down then, her plating settling along her back, clenching against her frame until she looks as small as when he first saw her in that cell. *Soundwave was walking a delicate line even handling her as gently as he did. Any more, and we would have surely been deactivated. And Isobel, too.*

Eject can't do anything but stare at her. He doesn't even feel angry anymore, there's no room for that next to the astonishment.

When another moment passes without him saying anything, Laserbeak sighs softly. It's just a small ex-vent, but it echoes in Eject's spark.

*I should leave. Please tell Isobel I'm sorry and I hope I can still be her friend.*

She's just about to take off when he lifts his hand again. "Wait."

Her head turns slightly, and one red, piercing optic meets his.

"I'm sorry," Eject says, and he means it. "I should have thought about how hard this has been for you. I shouldn't have shouted. Please don't leave yet. I've –" he takes a steadying in-vent, "I've missed you."

She pauses, then chuckles and lowers her head. *This world is crazy.* Those red optics turn to him again, but this time they're warm. *I've missed you, too, Eject. More than you think.*

"Then stay a bit longer," he says, sitting down on the bench again and patting the wood next to him. "Let's just pretend the world isn't crazy, huh? We can do that for a while?"

*Really?* Now Laserbeak sounds hopeful. *You can ignore this much crazy?*

He shrugs. "Hey, I'm a sports fan. You have no idea how much crazy I ignore on a daily basis."

Laserbeak giggles, a bright, cheerful sound over his comm, and he grins. And when she chooses to hop onto his lap instead of the bench next to him, well, he's not objecting to that. And finding out that his arms fit just as well around her as they used to…

Eject is happy. For the first time since they let Laserbeak go, he's genuinely, truly happy.

It feels very natural to press his face against Laserbeak's plating, nuzzling her neck.

"I'll work on it," he promises, a spur-of-the-moment decision that feels more right by the second. "On not hating your family, I mean."

*As long as you understand,* Laserbeak replies, curling up in his arms and resting her head against his shoulder. *As long as you know that they didn't want to do this. That's enough. And as long as you don't hate me.*

"You're much too sweet to hate," Eject says, mentally wincing at the lame line even as he says it.

Laserbeak just giggles again, though. *I can work with that.*

* * *

The day is bright, much brighter than the previous day. Eject is almost whistling as he head to his shift in the comm hub, much as a Cybertronian can whistle. He feels like cartwheeling, or dancing, but the mood around him is much too sober for that.

He's beaming inside, though.

*Hey, honey,* he sends, using the hidden frequency that piggybacks on the human broadcast signals. Keeping to short, easy bursts, so neither Blaster nor Red Alert can detect them. *Missing you already.*

He waves jauntily at Jazz, and the saboteur raises an optic ridge above his visor. "Happy today, m'mech?"

Eject shrugs easily, and then he does cartwheel. Only Jazz around right now anyway, and Jazz always knows more than he lets on. "Would you believe me if I say that I have cause to? And that it's a good thing?"

Jazz watches him for a moment longer, considering, and then smiles. "I can guess. I'm happy for ya, m'mech. An' we need all th'bridges across that gap we can get, 'specially with th' recent slag about Isobel." He stops, then, winking at Eject and pointing at him with one slim finger. "Just don' give away the homeworld."

And Eject laughs, because he gets it. He laughs so hard that his cartwheel collapses and he crashes to the ground still chortling. "Gotcha, Jazz."

The saboteur grins and walks away.

Eject lies there for a moment, letting his taxed systems settle. When the answering message comes in, he opens it eagerly.

*Likewise. I'll see you soon, handsome.*

He laughs again. It's easy, freeing. He's as light as a feather.

He can feel someone laughing at him over the bond. *Much as I appreciate your mood today, kiddo, you think you're gonna make it to your shift soon?*

*Sorry, Blaster,* he comms back, getting to his feet. He's still chuckling. *'m on my way.*

Yeah. Things are looking good.


End file.
